


A Prince's Duty

by TheManicMagician



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Daddy Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I hurt Noct a lot, Self-Esteem Issues, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: After an assassination attempt leaves Regis in a coma, Noctis has to wear the Ring of the Lucii and raise the Wall in his father’s stead until the king recovers.





	1. Chapter 1

Noctis’ alarm beeped shrilly. He groaned, and fumbled blindly for the offensive piece of technology on his side table. He found the snooze button and slammed it with perhaps a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Noctis didn’t want to get up. He was having a good dream, for once. He’d been chasing Umbra through a sea of sylleblossoms. Running didn’t pull at his old injuries; rather, he felt like he could run forever, without the slightest burn in his muscles, just savoring the freedom of it.

He cracked open his eyes to glare balefully at his alarm clock. 5 a.m. What in the Gods’ names possessed him to set his alarm for such an unholy hour? On a Saturday, no less? It took him a moment to recall, exhaustion making his thoughts move thick and slow.

Oh, right. Normally he trained with Gladio evenings, but tonight they all had to attend some dumb gala thing. Of course his muscle-head of a Shield wouldn’t just give him the day off. He never did when this happened, just shrugged and said “See you with the sun, princess.” He’d intended to go to bed early last night, but he couldn’t just make his body disobey its usual schedule and fall asleep at 9 p.m. So all in all he’d had about four and a half hours. Not nearly enough.

His bed was warm and soft, and it was very, _very_ tempting to go back to sleep. But he knew from experience that if he didn’t show up for practice in a timely manner, Gladio was liable to bust down his door and drag him out. The ensuing hours of grueling training would make him curse those extra ten minutes of sleep to hell. And so, Noctis switched his alarm off entirely as he extricated himself from his cozy cocoon of blankets.

He padded over to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he brushed his hair and teeth. He inspected his chin in the mirror, frowning as he ran his fingers across it. Gladio, the bastard, had taken to sporting an impressive beard lately. Rubbing it all in Noct’s face how much of a manly man he was. Noctis was already 15, but his chin remained stubbornly smooth, not as much as a wisp of hair to see.

Whatever. Gladio was three years older than him. Noct’s sure when he’s 18, he’ll have no problem growing a beard. His father certainly had no trouble.

Noctis threw on a t-shirt and sweatpants, and then made his way downstairs to the training room. Gladio was already there—of course he was—doing squats to warm up.

“Sleeping beauty awakes!” Gladio crowed. Noctis rolled his eyes. “Five laps, go.”

Biting back a groan, Noctis started jogging. He’d never been much of a runner. In combat he preferred to warp, which used a different kind of stamina. And his knee always acted up when he used it too much, so he preferred to just…not. Do that. He was winded by lap three, but pushed on. He counted himself lucky that Gladio didn’t chastise him for his flagging pace.

Once he finished his warm-up jog, they stretched together.

“Alright, kid.” Gladio rumbled, summoning a broadsword from the armiger. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Noctis was knocked flat on his ass in minutes. His sword skittered from his grasp, and dissolved in a shower of blue sparks.

“Are you serious?” Gladio wasn’t impressed. “What the hell was that?”

“Maybe I’d be a little better if we were doing this tomorrow night and not at five in the damn morning,” Noctis muttered, peevishly.

Gladio’s eyebrows lifted in feigned astonishment, and Noctis realized too late he’d made a mistake.

“What’s that, you say?” He cocked his ear towards Noctis. “You say an extra half hour of training today would really help? If you insist.”

“Ugh, jerk.”

Noctis rose to his feet, sword materializing in his hand, and in seconds Gladio was on the offensive again with a flurry of attacks. Forget squeezing past an opening in Gladio’s defense, it was all Noctis could do to block the heavy blows. Gladio was _powerful_ , each strike sending a reverberation down Noctis’ sword, making his arms tingle.

“Do you think the Niffs will wait until you’ve had your beauty sleep?” Gladio asked. “You need to be prepared to fight—and to win—at any moment.”

“Isn’t that—what I have—you for?” Noctis spoke between gasps of air.

He parried another strike, but then Gladio swept Noctis’ legs out from underneath him before he could think to warp away. Noctis fell to the floor for the second time this morning, his head smacking painfully against the mat.

“Ow, damn it.”

“C’mon, Noct.”

Gladio gripped him by the forearm and hauled him upright. Noctis rubbed at the back of his head, wincing.

“Again.”

~*~

Noctis sent off a prayer of thanks to the Astrals above that no one was along the route back to his room. Otherwise, they would’ve borne witness to the pitiful sight that was their prince, sweat-drenched, his hair askew, limping back to his rooms.

Gladio was merciless today, but the worst part was that Noctis knew his Shield was right to be hard on him. Noctis was going to be king some day, and to properly serve his people, he had to be ready for anything. And with the way Niflheim kept nipping at their borders, battle skills would likely be crucial. He knew it, and was constantly frustrated with the fact that he never seemed to reach the level Gladio expected of him.

The hot spray of the shower was a soothing balm for the ache in his muscles. He took a minute to savor it, leaning against the shower wall and just letting the water run over him.

Noctis toweled off when he was done, and put on something casual. He had plans to meet with Prompto for lunch and hang out for the afternoon. He’d wanted to drag Prompto along to the snoozefest of a party tonight, but Cor vetoed it.

Noctis had been ready to argue against the unfairness of it. Yeah, Prompto was a commoner. So what? He was Noctis’ friend, and that should’ve been enough. But Prompto insisted it was fine, and Noctis let it go, because he didn’t want to push. Only recently had their relationship strengthened from tentative acquaintances to genuine friends. He didn’t want to overwhelm Prompto with the magnitude of what he was getting into, what it meant to be friends with someone like Noctis. He was afraid of scaring him off.

Noctis hunkered down to work on homework next, now that he had a bit of time to spare before he was to meet with his friend. The hours dragged by slowly as he agonized over a paper on old Solheim, and it was a relief to finally set his pen down as it neared noon. Noctis and Prompto planned to meet at a café not too far from the Citadel. He was about to text Prompto to confirm he was on his way, when there was a knock at his door.

“Yeah?” He called over, shrugging on a jacket.

Ignis let himself in.

“Your Highness.”

“What’s up, Iggy?”

“I’ve come to inform you that there’s been a change to your schedule.” Ignis pressed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “His Majesty wishes you dine with him for luncheon in a half hours’ time.”

“What? But I’m meeting with Prompto!”

“I did inform him of your plans for the day. But His Majesty insisted. Perhaps he wishes to talk about the state of your grades as of late.” Ignis said, pointedly.

Noctis’ teeth clenched, and he looked away. His father had been trying to ease Noctis into more and more royal duties as he got older, but lately Noctis found it impossible to keep up with his princely demands _and_ his schoolwork. Obviously the former was more important than the latter, so his grades had to take a few hits. Sue him. He wasn’t proud of it, but he thought he was being realistic. Evidently, his dad didn’t agree.

“Let’s get you set with a more…appropriate outfit,” Ignis said, delicately.

Of course. He couldn’t wear a chocobo print t-shirt to lunch with his dad, even though it’d just be the two of them. The first decree he’ll pass as king will be to ban required formalwear. He was going to show up to counsel meetings in pajamas.

As Ignis busied himself picking out an appropriate outfit, Noctis texted Prompto to let him know the bad news.

[11:35 A.M.] Noct

_ugh i can’t come. srry dude. dads makin me eat lunch w/ him._

He didn’t want his (only) friend from school to feel like Noct was ditching him right when they’re supposed to meet, so he added:

[11:36 A.M.] Noct

_Really dude. I’m sorry about this. Iggy just told me._

[11:36 A.M.] Choco-Butt

_heyyyyyyy dude!_

_aw :(_

_its ok man!! Ive got work 2morrow but maybe we can do smth on fri?_

Noctis felt a rush of relief. If Prompto was upset with him, he wouldn’t ask to reschedule, right? He did a mental run-through of his tasks for next Friday, and made tentative plans to meet up with Prompto at the arcade near his house after his training session with Gladio that evening.

“I trust I can leave the rest to you, Highness?”

He pocketed his phone and waved Ignis off.

“Sure, Specs. No problem.”

“Right. I’ll be back at 6:45 to collect you for the gala.” Ignis gave him a short bow, and then he was off.

Noctis sighed, glaring down at the dress shirt and slacks that’d been laid out for him. He was sure lunch with his father would be _loads_ of fun.

~*~

Clarus stood post outside the door. He gave Noctis a nod of acknowledgement as he stepped inside the king’s private dining room.

His dad didn’t look up as he came in, engrossed in a report he was in the middle of reading. The food was already set out for the pair of them, faint trails of steam drifting up from the gold-lined plates. Garula steak and string beans for his dad, and a lighter chicken and rice dish for Noctis.

Noctis sat in his customary chair at the head of one end of the long rectangular table, his father all the way down the other end. He always thought they looked stupid, “sharing” a meal like this.

Noctis used his fork to pick around the dish. He unearthed a clump of carrots and broccoli hiding in the bed of rice. Scowling, Noctis scraped them to the edge of his plate.

“Put them back.” There was a trace of humor in the command. His father waited patiently for him to nudge the vegetables back over, before he added: “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”

Noctis shrugged. “Sure.”

Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d already had plans for the day—and for the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s only here to get yelled at—he would actually be delighted his dad made the time for him. King Regis’ responsibility lied primarily with his kingdom, not so much his son. Noctis understood the situation he was in, and refused to resent him for it. But, he could admit to himself, in the privacy of his own mind, that even though he understood, he still couldn’t help but missing his dad. They’d been so close for so many years, after his mom’s passing, and in the wake of the Marilith attack. But now Noctis was nearly a man, and was supposed to pretend he didn’t need his father anymore.

“How are you liking high school thus far?”

“Fine.”

Noctis speared a piece of chicken and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

“And how is training going with Gladiolus? I understand you’ve been working on your armiger.”

“Okay.”

“Noctis.” A hint of frustration crept into the king’s tone. “I think I’m entitled to more than one-word answers.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Perhaps we can start with your algebra. Your declining grades are cause for concern, Noctis. I know the standard to which you are capable of performing, and this is not it.”

Noctis winced. He knew his dad asked out of concern—but there was real disappointment there, too. He leaned back in his chair, putting it on its back legs, and feigned a cavalier attitude. Regis frowned at Noctis’ lack of proper etiquette.

“It’s just a few tests. No big deal. I’ll get the grade back up by midterms.”

“You will get your grades back up.” His dad affirmed. “Algebra isn’t all that concerns me, albeit it is the worst of the lot. Ignis has indicated in his reports that you’ve been performing worse than usual in all your classes.”

Noctis picked at his food. His dad wasn’t finished.

“Show me you can bring your grades back up this month, and I won’t hire a tutor. And until your grades are at a satisfactory level, there will be no video games, or hanging out with friends. Consider yourself effectively grounded.”

Noctis’ mouth hung open. “Wha—that’s not fair!”

Regis arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Actions have their consequences. You’ve budgeted your time poorly. Too many arcade trips and not enough studying. You insist you are old and mature enough to move out of the Citadel and live on your own, but you have not proven that to me.”

Righteous indignation burned through him. Sure, he blew off steam at the arcade every now and then. But the time he spent on hobbies was a pittance compared to his training and meetings and classes and studying and every other damn thing he had to do. Why couldn’t his dad see that he was _trying_?

“It’s not _fair_.” Noctis repeated, sullen.

Didn’t his dad understand that if he kept having to blow off Prompto, his friend would think Noctis didn’t actually like him? Prompto was his first friend ever that wasn’t stuck with him out of obligation, and his dad was going to _ruin_ it over a few B’s and C’s.

“You are a _prince_ , Noctis.” Regis was stern. “It is time you stopped whining and began to act like one.”

Oh, screw this. Noctis rose and, without waiting to be dismissed, stomped out of the room.

Clarus watched him go, eyebrows climbing to his hairline. Noctis ignored him and stalked back to his rooms, where he flopped into bed and buried his face in a pillow. Alone, he screamed his frustration into it.

~*~

The gala was being held to welcome a visiting group of Accordian dignitaries. Though Accordo was technically under the thumb of the empire, the island nation still retained its own government—and, importantly, trade agreements—with Insomnia. Noctis had been excluded from knowing the particulars of the visit. He was just attending the gala to stand at his father’s side and look like a darling little prince.

Noctis dutifully stood at the king’s right side as he gave a mandatory dry speech about how glad he was that the politicians from every corner of Accordo were in attendance, his hope for peace between the two nations, his prayers for future prosperity of both countries and blah blah blah. Noctis kept his face a careful mask. Years of practice had enabled him to hide his apathy and disdain behind a pleasant smile.

As the king’s speech concluded, there was a smattering of polite applause, and then the party started up for real, the crowd dispersing towards the chairs, the dance floor, or the buffet table, depending upon where their primary interests lied.

Once free to leave the king’s side, he did so, keeping his gaze turned downward to avoid eye contact with his father as he descended from the stage.

Ignis and Gladio were waiting for him.

“Looking sharp, kiddo.” Gladio snickered.

Noctis grimaced. As a nod to their visitors, he had forgone Lucian black for Accordian blue, with yellow accents. The suit wasn’t to his taste. Too light and…tropical.

“Yes, the outfit rather _suits_ you.” Ignis punned.

“Yeah, yeah.”

A server drifted by, bearing a tray of champagne flutes. Gladio, the only one in the group of age, plucked one off.

“None for you, squirt.”

“I don’t want it anyway.” He’d had sips here and there, at certain ceremonies. He’d never much cared for the aftertaste it left behind.

Ignis perked up suddenly, and homed in on someone in the crowd. “I believe that may be the Altissian deputy-mayor, Mr. Braska.” He readjusted his tie, even though it was already perfectly straight. “Can I trust you two to not get into any trouble if I leave you alone?”

“Go schmooze away, you weirdo.” Noctis waved him off, an indulgent smile on his lips. Ignis always enjoyed envoy visits. He’d been muttering to himself the past week, memorizing who’s who in Accordo, preparing insightful questions to pepper them with.

Ignis made his way through the mass of partygoers, and their trio became a duo. Gladio nudged Noctis.

“C’mon. Let’s hit the buffet before Drautos eats all the shrimp.”

Noctis wasn’t all that hungry, even though he’d barely had two bites of his lunch today. Still, he followed his Shield over to the impressive array of finger foods. Gladio got his shrimp, and Noctis picked up a small pastry he nibbled at the corner of before tossing out.

It didn’t take long for Gladio to ditch him, too. Once they strayed from the buffet, the horde swarmed on Noctis. He politely rebuffed three requests to dance, and then was stuck talking with an older nobleman that claimed to have been “the best of friends with King Mors”. Noctis had never known his grandfather; the Ring of the Lucii had drained him to a husk before he’d even been born. By the time Noctis managed to extricate himself from the rambling conversation, Gladio was halfway across the room, chatting up a gaggle of giggling girls.

He wasn’t mad at his retainers for bailing on him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bored as hell with no one to talk to. He fished his phone from his pocket to shoot off a text to Prompto.

[7:48 p.m.] Noct

_uuuuuuuuuuuugh_

[7:50 p.m.] Choco-Butt

 _stay strong bro_ ⊂(・﹏・⊂)

_just picture the arcade dude. were gonna beat that high score on astayanax_

Noctis winced. He hadn’t yet told Prompto he was grounded. Well, it could wait for now. He didn’t want his mood to sour more than it already had from simply being at this party instead of doing literally anything else.

[7:51 p.m.] Noct

_prom pls bust into the citadel. u have to save me ur my only hope_

Noctis’ gaze jerked up from his phone as the ballroom was wracked by a concussive _boom_. The room shook. Noctis was far enough away from the source—near the entrance—that he remained standing. Others that were closer weren’t so lucky, the force of the explosion knocking them to the ground. Through the residual cloud of smoke and plaster dust, a group of people in heavy armor poured inside.

“For the empire!” One of them shouted, and it was on.

Noctis shoved his phone in his pocket, and a sword sparked to life in his hand. Civilian noblemen and women were screaming, shoving at each other, but there was nowhere to run—the Niffs were clumped up by the only doors in or out, engaging with the present members of the crownsguard and the glaives.

He spotted Ignis rushing towards him, pushing through the throng to reach him, but Noctis needed to find his dad, where _was_ he—

There. Fighting, by the stage, with his back pressed against his Shield’s.

“Noct!” Gladio reached him first, all but barreling into him. He hefted his broadsword and took up a protective stance between his prince and the wall. “We need to get you out of here.”

The sound of gunfire ripped through the room. There were shrieks as blood sprayed, and bodies fell to the marble floor.

“What? No! I can fight!”

“This isn’t up for debate.” Gladio growled.

The imperial soldiers broke past the crownsguard’s defense. They split off, one group heading for the king, the other, for the prince. It wasn’t MTs the empire had sent on this mission, but live, loyal, _thinking_ soldiers. That made them especially dangerous.

“Come on!”

Gladio grabbed Noctis by the wrist and hauled him along. They hugged the wall as they ran. There was a discreetly hidden passageway at one corner of the ballroom, where they could make their escape.

A Niflhiem soldier darted into their path, rifle raised.

Gladio brandished his sword, but then the man was impaled through the neck, pinned to the wall by a gleaming dagger.

Ignis wrenched the dagger out of him, and the dying man slid to the floor, choking on his own blood.

“Let’s go.” Was all he said.

The three of them were nearing the hidden door to the tunnel when Noctis sought out his father again. Even in the din of the battle, it was impossible to not locate the king. Magic crackled around him, and he sent precise strikes of lighting to blast the imperial soldiers without harming his own men. There was a cut on his forehead, dripping blood into his eye, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.

Noctis felt his heart stop when he saw it.

A guest of the gala—in a suit, not the uniform of a soldier, which meant he was a goddamn spy, a traitor—was heading for the king, sword drawn. Clarus didn’t see, he was too busy fending off three Niffs at once.

There was no one else.

“Dad!”

Noctis tore free from Gladio’s hold. Ignoring the cries of his friends, he threw his blade towards his father’s would-be attacker. It took four warps before he was there at his father’s back, just quick enough to block the man’s sword with his own.

“Noct?” His dad wanted to turn, but he couldn’t break his gaze easily from those he was fighting.

The traitor snarled, furious at Noctis’ intervention. He rained down a barrage of strikes, which Noctis barely managed to deflect. He needed distance to regroup, but he couldn’t leave his father.

Then, the traitor’s sword connected with his own, with enough force that Noctis’ blade was thrown from his grip, leaving him open, defenseless. He staggered back, but he wasn’t fast enough.

The man darted forward and sunk his blade into Noctis’ chest before he ripped it back out.

Oh, Noctis thought, faintly. That’s not good. Suddenly all the noise in the room faded to a ringing nothingness. He held his hands to the wound, blood oozing between his fingers. He knew he was supposed to apply pressure to a wound this severe if he didn’t want to bleed out, but his head felt stuffed with cotton, his limbs buzzing with static. His hands didn’t press, just laid there overtop his chest like he was a royal coffin propped upright. The man raised his sword for the killing blow when Clarus tackled him, knocking him to the floor.

Noctis fell to his knees, and would’ve dropped to the floor, but someone caught him. He blinked dumbly, sight swimming. It was his father cradling him, the lines of his face twisted in grief. Tears dripped from violet eyes. His lips were moving, but Noctis’ ears still weren’t working right. He tried to speak, to reassure his dad that this was totally worse than it looked, but he just choked, wetly. His father’s hand pressed to his wound, and then warmth spilled into him. Maintaining the Wall had robbed the king of most of his healing power, but now he was pouring every scrap of it he had left to close what would otherwise be a fatal wound in Noctis’ chest. It was too much for him to give; Noctis grabbed his father’s wrist, but was too weak to pull it away from him.

Then the warmth faded, and Noctis was passed into the hands of another. Their grip was strong as they lifted him in their arms. Gladio? No. Clarus. Carrying him away.

Noctis’ head lolled, so he could look back. His father was wrath incarnate, the room soaked with the weight of his magic. He cut through the ranks of soldiers like they were paper dolls. But he didn’t know, he couldn’t know there were spies amongst their ranks waiting to cut him down.

Noctis tried to warn Clarus, but he felt himself sinking impossibly downwards into the pits of utter exhaustion. His eyelids dragged downwards, and he knew nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stab Noct, of course. It's good practice for later in his life ;)
> 
> I know he's a bit of a brat in this chapter, but he's also 15 years old. He needs some room for that sweet sweet ~character growth~ in coming chapters.
> 
> Feel free to bug me on my tumblr at: themanicmagician.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

Noctis awoke in stages. He heard voices speaking over him. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was soft and urgent. He tried to open his eyes, but he was just so tired. He was pulled back under.

He drifted off and came back again an indeterminable amount of time later with more energy, enough to crack his eyes open a sliver.

He was in a bed. Not his own. It was too small, and the crisp, starch-white sheets were not his black silks. Monitors beeped softly. And slumped over in the chair beside him was—

“...nis?” He croaked, and winced at the hoarseness in his own voice.

Ignis jolted up like he’d been shocked, and his gaze ran over Noctis.

“You’re awake.” His voice was thick with relief. Ignis held out a cup with a straw for him. Noctis sipped the cold water gratefully, then slowly sat up. “How do you feel?”

Noctis rubbed his chest. “Sore,” He answered, truthfully.

There were no bandages, because his father had healed—wait. It all rushed back.

“Ignis. Where’s my dad?”

His advisor stiffened, expression closing down. The machine monitoring Noctis’ heart rate set off an escalating series of beeps.

“Answer me.” Noctis demanded, in the regal tone he rarely had cause to use with his friends.

“His Majesty is alive.”

Something was wrong. If his dad was okay, he’d be in Noctis’ room right now. Something was _wrong_ , and Ignis wasn’t telling.

A nurse entered, and Noctis caught a glance of the room beyond his. There were two crownsguard posted outside his door. The Citadel was still on high alert. Ignis sent off a text.

“I let the Marshal know you’re awake.” Ignis said, as the nurse checked Noctis over. “He’ll explain everything.”

The nurse determined he was fine, though she cautioned him to not get too excited. He was in no immediate physical danger, but he was drained from magic use and blood loss and needed to take it easy for a few days.

“Where’s Gladio?” Noctis asked, once the nurse left. His hand twined with Ignis’. The contact comforted them both.

“We’ve been watching over you in shifts.” Ignis murmured. “Gladio just went home a half hour ago for a shower. He needed it, believe me.”

“Wait, shifts? How long have I been asleep?”

Ignis checked his watch. “It is now 10:07 a.m. on Monday morning.”

Noctis swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. He’d slept through an entire _day_.

“Your body needed time to recover.” Ignis looked as if he was going to say more, but then Cor entered the room.

“Your Highness.”

“Marshal.” Noctis greeted, voice wavering slightly. He’d never seen Cor so serious—and this was _Cor_ , for Shiva’s sake.

Cor stood ramrod straight at the foot of the bed, arms folded behind his back.

“Highness, I sincerely wish we had the luxury of time to let you fully recover. But we do not. Insomnia is under attack.”

“...What?” Noctis breathed.

“When the Citadel was attacked Saturday night, 12 drop ships full of magitech troopers were dropped down in front of the city gates. We’ve been holding them at the fifth district.”

Noctis frowned, not understanding. How could they get inside the city?

“But the Wall—”

“The Wall is down.”

“That’s...impossible, that’s—” He looked to Ignis, but his advisor didn’t deny Cor’s words.

“His Majesty lives.” Cor said. “But only barely. He is unable to expend the magic demanded to keep the Wall maintained. It wavered through the night on Saturday, and by dawn it was down completely.”

It seemed so impossible. His dad was a constant pillar of strength in the face of every obstacle. Even when he’d gotten sick on occasion, the protective barrier around the crown city had never so much as flickered.

“Your Highness. None but the line of Lucis Caelums can wield the ring. Until your father recovers, the duty to raise the Wall and protect the citizens of Lucis falls to you.”

Ignis sucked in a sharp breath beside him, his grip on Noctis’ hand tightening. He looked like he wanted to protest.

Noctis had known from an early age that his life was tied to the Crystal and the Ring of the Lucii. How the gift the Gods gave to mankind were a curse upon his family line, how they siphoned away their souls until there was nothing left for them to take. It was the sacrifice demanded of them; it was the reason they were worth their status and all its accoutrements.

He just thought he’d have more time. That he’d be in his 30s—maybe 40s, even—before the ring was passed down to him. More time to prepare himself and come to grips with what wearing the ring would do to him.

Still, whether it happened in 20 years or right now, it didn’t matter. If the king was unable to protect his kingdom, then the duty fell to the prince.

He could say no. Leave the defense of the city to the crownsguard while his father convalesced. A small craven scrap of him wanted to. He was afraid. There was precious little he actually knew of the ring and how to wield it—his dad, like him, had thought they’d had more time.

But he knew in his heart there was really no choice. If he refused to put on the ring, he would still be protected out of obligation. But duty would be all that remained. There would be disappointment he couldn’t recover from. His people would pray to the Gods for the coward prince’s death.

The only way was forward.

“I’ll do it.” Noctis said, braver than he felt.

Cor nodded, like he expected nothing less.

“We’ll go to him now. Time is of the essence.”

“Here. I brought you a spare set of clothes.” Ignis, ever-prepared, handed the folded bundle to Noctis.

They waited outside the door as Noctis changed out of his hospital gown and into a black t-shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers.

His gait was stiff at first from his day of bed rest, but by the time they finished the short walk to his father’s room in the Citadel infirmary, he was moving more or less normally again.

Clarus loomed over his father’s bed, his arm in a sling, but still ever the watchful sentinel. He nodded at their entrance.

“Dad,” Noctis choked out. He crossed to the bed and took his father’s hand in his own. It was so cold and limp. Like he was already—

Noctis squeezed his hand tighter, trying to push his warmth through to his father.

There were bandages everywhere, wrapped around his head, his arms, peeking out from beneath the collar of his hospital gown. Noctis was sure there were more still on his legs, which were hidden beneath the blanket. His father’s face was ashen, lips pale. The sight of his chest rising and falling was barely enough to keep Noctis from hysteria.

“What happened to him?”

He had not been so hurt when Noctis had been carried away from his side.

“After you were injured, His Majesty was...understandably distraught.” Clarus’ tone was apologetic. He blamed himself for the state of their king. “He tore through many of the imperial army by himself. When they struck him, I don’t think he felt it, his senses numbed with rage. And he expended more magic then he’s had cause to in years. So his body simply...shut down.”

Clarus should’ve been beside his father, protecting him. But no, he’d been hauling Noctis’ useless self away, hadn’t he? His dad had brought himself to the edge of death because of Noctis. He couldn’t have let his father be taken out by the assassin, but he should have been good enough to defeat him. If he had, then the king wouldn’t have had to waste his magic healing and defending him. Maybe he wouldn’t be on this bed now, so still and cold.

Noctis’ eyes stung with the threat of tears. He blinked them back forcefully. He couldn’t do anything about the mistakes he made in the past. He just had to make up for them now.

Noctis carefully slid the Ring of the Lucii off his father’s finger. The ring was freezing, but felt somehow alive in his hand. His fist closed around the black band, and he looked up to the others.

“Can we go outside?” Out of this room that felt so much like a morgue. “I think I need to see the sky for this to work.”

Clarus and Cor exchanged an unreadable glance, and then Cor nodded.

“That should be alright, so long as we don’t stray far from the Citadel.”

Cor escorted Noctis and Ignis to the Citadel’s entrance. Along the way out, they encountered Gladio on his way in, hair still damp from the shower.

“Kept us waiting, Noct.” Gladio was gruffly relieved. “You don’t need _that_ much beauty sleep.”

“You calling me handsome?”

“You punk.” Gladio ruffled his hair.

Noctis wanted to apologize to his Shield, to both of his retainers, for running off. But now wasn’t the time, so he just batted Gladio’s hand away from his hair with a faint smile.

Noctis squinted as he stepped into the morning sunlight. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted rising smoke in the distance. That must be where the fighting was happening, then.

There was no time to delay. Noctis prayed no one noticed his shaking hands, and he slid the ring onto his finger. It was loose at first, but then adjusted to his finger, tightening itself around his skin.

Power surged into him, so immense, with such force that he screamed and fell hard to his knees. Gladio and Ignis supported him on either side, and kept him from hurtling down the Citadel steps. Cor watched, jaw tight. His scream twisted into a drawn-out, keening wail, but there was nothing they could do to help him.

It hurt. Oh Astrals, it hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt before. He’d always been connected to the Crystal, but the ring was a conduit, forcing the gentle current of energy shared between them to a roaring river. He bent further over and heaved, water and clear bile dripping from his mouth. The ring pulsed on his hand. His body wasn’t meant for this. He felt as if he would burst open, his skin unable to contain the deluge of magic.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there, panting and dazed, as he stared down at the ring on his finger. The pain sloped off at a glacial pace, and the world came back into focus.

Gladio’s arm was a solid band around his back, fingers curled at Noctis’ ribs. Ignis rubbed a soothing hand on his back, and murmured quiet assurances. Their faces were pale. Clearly, they’d had no idea the ring was going to hurt him like this.

“I…I’m okay now. I’m okay.” He wiped off the smear of spit on his chin.

None of them believed him. Still, Gladio and Ignis helped him upright again. When he seemed stable enough, they reluctantly let go of him.

Noctis had no idea how he was meant to do this. Cor wasn’t forthcoming with advice, either; even he didn’t know how the king had constructed the Wall. So Noctis relied on his intuition alone, and prayed it would be enough.

He held his hand in front of him, and his eyes slipped shut. He fed his desire to the Crystal, to the magic that roiled within him.

Let him form the Wall. The barrier. Defend his people, wrap them in protection. Blanket, envelop, enshroud.

The Crystal responded to his desire.

The Wall demanded tremendous power, and his knees buckled as the magic freshly bestowed upon him was taken away again. Hands braced him so he didn’t collapse. There was a shift in the air, the hum of magic.

There were gasps.

“Noctis.” Someone shook his shoulder.

His eyes opened to darkness.

“Did—Did it work?” He blinked, but the blackness remained.

“You’ve raised a Wall.” Cor confirmed. “But not a transparent one.”

Oh, Gods. He could imagine the confusion, the chaos, as the sun was blotted out. Cars careening into sidewalks. People frozen in fear, afraid to move. And the crownsguard at the outskirts of the city, fighting MTs that didn’t require sunlight to see.

No, he told the Crystal. No. You haven’t given me what I want. Let us see and feel the sun. The sky. Transparent. Clear, like the Crystal.

He felt the magic holding the wall together shiver, and then it cleared, fading to transparency. It wasn’t perfect. It was tinted purple in some places. But it was a close approximation to his father’s Wall.

“Shiva’s tits. You actually did it.” Gladio said with awe and admiration, head craned to look up at Noctis’ creation.

“Language, Gladio.” Ignis scolded.

He tasted copper. Noctis pressed a hand to his mouth, and found his nose was bleeding steadily. Ignis fussed, and dabbed the blood away with his handkerchief. It kept flowing, though, so Noctis took over, keeping the cloth pressed to his face.

“Well done, Highness.” Cor commended him. Noctis thrilled at the rare praise from the Marshal. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.” At Cor’s glare, he expanded, “A little light-headed, I guess. But fine.”

Cor’s steel gaze swept over Noctis’ retainers.

“You two take him to his room. Let him rest. We’ll handle the last of the Niffs.”

Noctis’ friends supported him as they walked back inside. He felt weak for needing them, but creating the Wall took more out of him than he had to give. All he wanted to do now was flop into bed and sleep for the next 10 years.

A sudden thought crossed his mind. All his precious people were here at the Citadel, except one. And the Niffs had gotten into the city.

He tugged at Ignis’ sleeve as they stepped into the elevator.

“Has anyone talked to Prompto?”

Ignis hesitated. Usually, his advisor anticipated Noctis’ needs before Noctis even knew he needed them. Keeping an eye out for Prompto was a new development, one that Ignis had not yet adapted to anticipate.

“…I’m afraid I do not have his number yet. You can send it to me for future situations, but I did charge your phone for you. It’s in your bedroom.”

Once inside Noctis’ rooms, they settled him onto a couch. The stream of blood from his nose had finally ebbed, so Noctis gingerly set the bloodied handkerchief to the side. Ignis retrieved his phone for him.

Noctis winced. There was a string of increasingly alarmed texts and five missed calls from Prompto. Evidently, the press knew there was an attack on the Citadel, but the crown’s press secretary had been mum on the conditions of Noctis and his dad. With the Wall down, many speculated they’d both been killed.

Noctis was about to call Prompto to reassure him with the truth that he was, in fact, alive, when he realized Ignis and Gladio were still hovering around him.

“…What? You guys can go.”

His retainers exchanged a glance.

“You’re sure there’s nothing you need?” Ignis pressed. “You haven’t eaten in over a day.”

Noctis shrugged. “Eh. Not that hungry.”

“Well, you still need to keep your strength up. Especially so now.” Ignis decided for him. “I’ll go prepare something.”

That got Ignis out of his hair for the time being, but Gladio was just sitting on the couch next to him, just watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

Noctis leaned back. Sheesh, why was he so intense all of a sudden? “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just calling Prompto and hanging out here.”

“What does it feel like? Holding the Wall?” Gladio asked, quietly.

“Oh. Uh.” He’d held it up for all of 20 minutes, and exhaustion had already settled on his shoulders like a heavy mantle. Was this how his father felt _all the time_? How did he even make it out of bed in the morning? “It’s fine. I mean, it’s a lot, but, I don’t have to actually think about it? Now that it’s up, it’s just kind of present, in the back of my mind.”

Gladio clasped his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“I know there’s not really much we can do to help you with the Wall. But if you ever need anything, don’t shut us out because you want to look strong. Someone who’s truly strong knows that there’s no shame in admitting when they need a hand. So let us help you, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Noctis laughed awkwardly, flustered by his Shield’s display of sincere devotion.

“Good. Also,” Gladio flicked him on the forehead. “Don’t you _ever_ run off like that again, you hear me?”

Noctis couldn’t promise that. He would’ve jumped in front of his father again. He would have swapped places with him right now, if he could. Gladio read his thoughts as if he’d spoken them aloud.

“It’s not your responsibility to protect your father.”

No, it was Clarus’, and Cors’, and the duty of every crownsguard and kingsglaive member. But even with all of them, if Noctis hadn’t stepped in, his father would’ve been dead instead of close to it. That would’ve been cruel to point out to Gladio, of all people, so he remained silent.

“If you are ever in a similar situation again, you have to realize you can’t make that call. You’re the future of the kingdom. Like it or not, you’re the most important person in Insomnia.”

A bitter thought flashed through his mind. Gladio wasn’t the first to suggest this to him. Lucis was treating them like tools, like cars. Old one runs a little slow? We can’t have that, can we? Trade in the old for the new, strip the old for parts and crush the rest of it to nothing. But they were human beings. Noctis couldn’t set aside his feelings for cold logic. His father was the most important person in his life, and Noctis would never be worth the degree of devotion his father deserved. And if he was ever in danger again, Noctis would give anything to protect him, because to him, his father would _always_ be _worth it_.

But Noctis kept that to himself, and just conceded to Gladio’s point to put an end to what would otherwise be an hours-long, fruitless argument.

“Alright, alright. No unnecessary risks, I get it. Can I call Prompto now before he has an aneurism?” His phone buzzed with a flurry of texts about the blackout before the Wall’s composition changed.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” With Niffs still active in the city, albeit on the fringes, everyone was still on high alert.

Noctis called Prompto once Gladio stepped out. He picked up on the first ring.

Noctis confirmed he was alright—he purposefully left out the fact that he’d had a sword through his chest—and asked how Prompto fared. His friend told him he wasn’t even close to where the Niffs had entered, though he’d seen the smoke from his bedroom window. He’d been holed up at home for the weekend with his parents, as civilians had all been ordered to stay inside until further notice. Prompto then pressed Noctis for details, and Noctis couldn’t help but still everything out about his father and the ring.

It was different, talking with Prompto, compared to Ignis and Gladio. He’d known Ignis forever, and Gladio nearly as long. But their friendship was so intertwined with his duty. There were times he felt he couldn’t be entirely open and honest with them. Couldn’t be himself, with zero filters or barriers in the way. Even with his retainers, he couldn’t expose too much of himself. Sure, they’d console him in the moment, but privately, they’d think him weak and unfit to rule, and he couldn’t bear that.

So it was with Prompto alone that he let his façade fall at last and be the 15 year old boy he was.

“I’ve never seen him hurt so badly.” Noctis confessed, as he drew his knees to his chest. His voice cracked with tears. “I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t do this without him. What if he never wakes up?”

“He _will_ , Noct.” Prompto assured him, with such firm conviction that it gave Noctis hope. “The king’s a strong guy. He’s going to wake up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Prompto.” He sniffed. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it?” Prompto preened, and Noctis allowed himself to laugh.

~*~

The night brought with it a dream. Noctis was suspended in a shimmering, iridescent void. He was surrounded by a circle of wraithlike men in fine armor, with eyes that flayed him open, exposed his deepest fears. They looked and judged the sum of all he was and wasn’t in frigid silence.

It could’ve been years they watched him; it could’ve been minutes. Noctis faltered under their unrelenting stares, and curled in on himself.

One of the wraiths broke out of the circle, marching towards him. His chin was taken between the man’s gloved hand, and tilted upward.

Noctis recognized him from the oil portraits adorning the walls of the Citadel.

“Grandpa Mors,” He breathed. He never got to call him that.

“It is too soon, King of Kings.” His grandfather’s words reverberated in the abyss, and Noctis was blinded by light.

“ _Noctis_!”

He jerked upright in bed. Instinctively, his eyes snapped to the ring still on his finger. It gave off a faint glow as it pulsed with energy.

“Noct.” A voice demanded his attention. Ignis was once more at his bedside. His relief was palpable as Noctis turned towards him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just a weird dream.” Noctis ran a hand through his hair. It was damp with sweat, as were his sheets. He picked at his t-shirt. It stuck to his skin. Gross.

“Go shower. Quickly, now. The council wants you to attend an emergency meeting; I was sent to fetch you.”

“My dad?”

Ignis shook his head. “There’s been no change.”

Noctis swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood too quickly, and his sight darkened around the edges. Ignis grabbed his arm, and tried to ease him back down onto the mattress.

“Stop it.” Noctis snapped, pulling away. “I’m not some invalid.”

Ignis withdrew, but watched his slow trudge across the room, ready to intervene if Noctis so much as stumbled. Thankfully, he made it to the bathroom without further incident.

After a quick shower, Noctis dressed in the outfit Ignis provided him with. It was similar enough to his father’s kingly raiment to make him uneasy. He felt he was playing pretend king, as his father lay dying.

He was then rushed to the council chamber. Additional chairs had been carried in from elsewhere, for not only was the full council in attendance, but also Cor, Drautos, Gladio, and Dr. Sana, the king’s doctor. Clarus was the only one in the high circle absent, presumably still with his king.

They all of them stood as he entered with Ignis. They placed their fists to their chests and bowed. There was something different in the air. None of them were looking at him like he was just a spoiled brat, a wayward child. They were looking to him like he was their future ruler, here to guide them.

His father’s chair, with its high back and golden embellishments, was empty at the head of the table. Noctis swallowed, and sat in the chair he once crawled up to settle in his dad’s lap. Once he sat, the others did so as well. Gladio stood at attention by Noctis’ right side, and Ignis slid into the one open seat at Noctis’ left.

There were freshly cut white orchids pointedly resting in a vase in the center of the long table. The sight of them made him irrationally livid. White was the color of grief and mourning in their country. His father was injured severely, true. But he was _not_ dying.

Noctis drew himself to his fullest height. He looked Cor in his eyes and commanded: “Report.”

“Niflheim’s threat inside the Wall has been neutralized with minimal casualties. Civilians have been ordered to remain indoors as the magitech troopers are cleaned off the streets. We don’t want anyone messing with imperial technology who shouldn’t. We’ve searched the perimeter of the city, but see no signs of additional drop ships en route. It is our belief that this was a premeditated attack, but not the prelude to a full-scale war. They took a new risk and weren’t sure if it would succeed. Now that the Wall is back up, it is unlikely they will make further movements. They had their chance, and they missed it.”

Cor produced a map of Lucis from his pocket, and spread it out on the table. There was a red line encircling all of Insomnia, but also Cavaugh and a significant portion of Leide.

“While scouting the empire’s movements, my men reported that Your Highness’ wall extends further outwards than His Majesty’s.” He tapped the line. “This is the full circumference.”

The council murmured at that revelation.

“Perhaps Prince Noctis could extend the Wall to be as it was. To shield the continent of Lucis entirely.” One said.

Several councilors looked thrilled at the idea. And Noctis wanted to—he had always felt guilty about the people of Lucis stuck outside the crown city, without the Wall’s protection from MTs and daemons—but he very much doubted he could.

Cor jumped in before Noctis could promise them anything.

“Absolutely not.” He drew the fledgling debate to a sharp halt. “The strain of such an endeavor was too much for King Mors in his prime. And we have all borne witness to how holding the Wall at Insomnia’s borders has worn on King Regis through the decades. The prince has not even fully developed his magic. The burden we place upon him now is already tremendous enough.”

The councilor who had proposed the idea now shrunk back, abashed.

Cor turned to Noctis once more.

“I urge you to shrink the Wall’s circumference back to the city limits, to conserve your strength.”

How could Cor ask that of him? The Wall shielded his people from daemons, monsters like the Marilith. He may have included parts of Lucis he did not intend to while constructing his Wall, but how could he now in good conscience strip that protection away again?

“I will consider it.” Noctis said, diplomatically.

Cor frowned, but let it go for the moment, turning to the next topic.

“There are eight envoys from Accordo that were not killed in the crossfire of the attack. We’re keeping them in holding until we can determine their level of involvement of the events on Saturday evening.”

Cor and Drautos went on to discuss further security measures they were implementing both in the Citadel and throughout the capital, before the king’s doctor was given the floor.

“The king is stable and healing.” She confirmed. “He expended much energy in the attack, and took many blows. As far as we can understand, the Crystal has put him in a state of suspended rest until his health returns and his magic is rebuilt.”

“How long will it take?” Noctis asked.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible to say.” Noctis’ heart sank. “We looked through old records of the previous kings. After complete magical exhaustion, their recovery spanned anywhere from hours to…years.”

There was silence in the wake of the doctor’s statement. _Years_. That could not happen. Noctis knew he was nowhere close to prepared for assuming the mantle of ruler to early, especially in this time of war.

“There is no way you can accelerate the process?” Noctis asked. “Ethers and elixirs, to replenish his magic?”

“We tried, but they had no effect. They just passed right through him. We are providing His Majesty with fluids and sustenance intravenously, but as for the rest, he is in the care of the Crystal alone.”

Noctis fell quiet for a moment, contemplating her words, before he addressed them all.

“Until His Majesty is fully recovered, I shall bear his burdens. The Wall is raised.” He showed the ring to the council. “And I expect to be included henceforth in all matters of the state.”

One bold noblewoman spoke up.

“Forgive me for saying so, Prince Noctis, but perhaps, until the king recovers, it’d be best for the council to concern itself with running the city while Your Highness is introduced to his responsibilities at a more reasonable pace.”

You’re too young and ignorant, she was saying. As if we’ll let you have a voice here.

They were expecting him to buckle under the weight of their understanding, patronizing smiles, and give in. To hand over his kingdom, to go back to school and be nothing more than a dutiful battery to power the Wall.

But this was far from his first council meeting. He knew these people. Some members were philanthropic, charitable so long as it put them in a good light. But he knew at their cores, they were all hungry for power. They saw Noctis as a weakness of the crown to exploit. He would not pass the kingdom back to his father worse than he’d received it.

“You are not to challenge me on this. It is my command.” He exuded authority. The ring seemed to approve, and the presence of his magic hung in the air, as if to remind them all what they were not. Then, as quick as it had come, the threatening cloud of magic dispersed. “Cor, remain behind for a moment. The rest of you are dismissed.”

They’d been the ones to call him to this emergency meeting, but by the end of it, Noctis was the one in full control.

The council shuffled out. Ignis got up to leave, too, but Noctis grabbed his sleeve, looking between him and Gladio.

“No, I didn’t mean you guys too. You stay.”

Drautos hesitated at the threshold, perhaps hoping Noctis would change his mind and include him as well. Noctis did not; the following conversation was to be shared between only those he could completely trust. He respected Drautos, but not enough for him to have a seat in this conversation. At last, the captain of the kingsglaive left, shutting the door behind him.

Gladio released a puff of air and took a seat.

“That was something, Noct. I thought that councilor was going to piss her pants when you yelled at her.”

“I didn’t yell.” Noctis mumbled. Now that he was among friends, he slouched a little in the chair. His back ached.

“What is it you wished to discuss?” Cor got right to the point.

“The man who tried to kill my dad. Who, uh. Stabbed me.” He rubbed his chest absently. “Do we have anything on him? Is he one of the eight in lockup?”

Cor’s lips thinned. “Clarus made me aware of him, and I brought him to the cells where we’re keeping the Accordians to identify the man. He wasn’t with them.”

A chill shivered down Noctis’ spine. “You’re saying he _got away_?”

“His Majesty has either Clarus or a crownsguard posted inside his hospital room at all hours, with two glaives right outside the door. Ignis and Gladio are by your side, and you will always have a crownsguard tail for backup. We are searching for him, but rest assured that in the meantime, we will not let that man get to either one of you again.”

Noctis rubbed his chin. “We need to know more. How many of the dignitaries knew what was going to happen. And if any knew that man. And how the hell a damn army was able to march into the Citadel with no one to stop them.”

Ignis spoke up. “Another issue to consider: Accordo will ask for their envoys to be extradited. Most likely within the day. Time is not on our side.”

“Cor,” Noctis said, grimly. “I give you full permission to use whatever means you possess to get the truth from them. If this results in the souring of our alliance with Accordo, then so be it. We cannot stand for such flagrant attacks on our king.”

“It shall be done, Highness.”

Cor left them then to get to work.

Noctis sunk deeper into his father’s chair. He had to hope the choices he was making were the best ones. He allowed himself one moment of panic, then bottled it all up. He pushed himself out of the chair.

“Come on.” He called to his retainers. “We have work to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

There was stubble on his face.

Noctis stared grimly back at his reflection in the bathroom mirror with bloodshot eyes, his hands braced on either side of the porcelain sink. It had been two weeks and four days since the attack on the Citadel left his father comatose, and there was hair sprouting above his mouth, on his chin and jawline. He looked more and more like his father every day, they’d all say.

Noctis stooped down and rummaged through the storage area beneath the sink. Ignis stocked various toiletries down here and kept everything neat. Near the back, untouched, were a razor and shaving cream. He ripped the razor free from its plastic packaging.

He’d been looking forward to this moment, before. Now, all he felt was the cold fingers of fear digging into his chest. How much time had the ring already robbed him of?

Noctis patted a lather of shaving cream on his face. Some got in his hair with his sloppy application. He didn’t care.

His hands were clumsy and awkward—he’d never done this before—as he shaved his face. His drag of the razor was too harsh. Once he finished and patted his face clean with a wet towel, he noticed small nicks, here and there, where he’d pressed too firmly. They dribbled faint trails of blood.

He pressed a clean corner of the towel back to his face to wipe off the blood. He washed off the razor and set it to the side; evidently he’d need to make use of it from here on out. It wasn’t a big deal.

Noctis stepped outside his suite, where Gladio was waiting patiently to collect him for breakfast. His Shield had become his shadow in the past weeks, haunting his steps from room to room as Clarus did his father. Gladio’s face pinched with worry at the sight of him—at the still-bleeding cuts on his face—but made no comment as he followed after Noctis half a step behind. About ten feet back, a pair of crownsguard, assigned by Cor, tailed them both.

Breakfast was light. Oatmeal with honey, a few nibbled-at slices of fruit. Noctis was too exhausted to be hungry.

The quiet peace of the morning was interrupted as Ignis burst into the dining room. Noctis dropped his spoon in his bowl with a clatter, and Gladio’s hand had instinctively strayed to his sword before he snapped it back to his side.

“Gods, Iggy—”

“Not the time.” Ignis cut Gladio short. “Noct, we need to get you to the council chambers. Now.”

He hurried after Ignis, breakfast forgotten.

“What’s going on?” Noctis asked, half-jogging to keep pace with Ignis’ loping strides through the halls. Gladio and the crownsguard pair right behind them.

“It has just come to my attention that the council is holding an eight a.m. meeting.”

Noctis checked his phone. It was 8:09 now.

“That wasn’t on my schedule.”

“No,” Ignis said, pointedly. “It wasn’t.”

They reached the council chambers in record time, and Noctis threw open the door. All heads turned towards him. The gathered councilors hurriedly sketched bows. It was not the full council before him, but a quick tally of heads confirmed there were enough members gathered to pass majority motions. Without necessarily needing the king’s—or the prince’s—approval.

“Prince Noctis.” One of the councilors spoke up. “What an…unexpected delight.”

Noctis settled heavily in his father’s chair.

“Why was I not made aware of this meeting, Lady Mendax? I thought my desires to be included were made clear to the council.”

An uneasy expression flitted across the old woman’s face, so quickly he nearly missed it, before she sweetened her wrinkled face in a smile.

“We were under the assumption Your Highness was still asleep. We wished not to disturb your rest when you’re working so ardently to protect us all through the Wall. Especially when the items up for discussion are of minimal importance.”

Noctis snatched up the itinerary sheet for the meeting, and scanned through the agenda quickly. True to Mendax’s word, there were multiple items on the agenda not worth his time, such as general upkeep of the Citadel and plans for a new statue in some plaza. But tucked away in the last paragraph was a motion concerning the refugee crisis. Of course. Noctis was typically apathetic regarding many matters of the court. Bickering about grain and metal imports had him trying to sneak a nap in the middle of meetings, while Ignis watched on by his side in utter despair, and his father, with some measure of mirth.

But the one matter he’d had a vocal opinion on was Insomnia’s stance on refugees. After the Wall had been pulled back to the crown city, mass panic had erupted across the continent of Lucis. Under threat by daemons at night, and the ever-encroaching Empire by day, Lucians had thrown themselves at the city gates and begged asylum. An immigration lottery was created, and each citizen was carefully vetted before allowed inside the Wall’s protection.

Many of the council railed against the lottery, and had been needling at the king this past year for an all-out ban on refugees. Noctis argued otherwise. To turn their back on war refugees seeking a safe place to live—to lock out their fellow Lucians, especially—was too cruel to consider. The king had agreed with his son’s opinion, and the status quo endured.

Now, with King Regis convalescing and Noctis in charge, they were trying to quietly pass a bill that would ban acceptance of further refugees for at least a year.

Noctis set down the agenda. “This proposal for asylum seekers is out of the question.”

“There are new developments to consider, Highness.”

“Like what?”

Ignis passed him a glass of cool water. Noctis spared him a quick smile of thanks before he returned his glare to Lady Mendax.

She continued. “The people have realized the Wall’s circumference expanded, and have begun camping out beneath the Wall’s shelter in Leide, and even the wilds of Cavaugh. Before long there will be a veritable tent city of refugees on our doorstep. If we place a temporary freeze on immigration, we can deter them from lingering on the outskirts. We’ll stop this before it becomes a major issue.”

“How could Lucians seeking shelter become an issue?”

Lord Prudencia cleared his throat, and to his credit his tone was _slightly_ less patronizing. “The problem is that it leaves Insomnia vulnerable. The threat of daemons at night has always kept people away from lingering at our border. Now that the Wall’s limit is extended, they may try to scale Insomnia’s physical walls, bypassing the vetting process entirely. It will be simple for agents of Niflheim to slip in, as well.”

Noctis frowned. “Perhaps the crownsguard could patrol the walls.”

“I fear they are stretched thinly enough as it is. We simply do not have the resources to ensure the protection of Insomnia if this continues.”

Noctis fell silent. It’d be easier if things were black and white, right and wrong. But while he did not agree entirely, he did see some sense in their collective concerns.

“I believe this issue is too large for just us gathered here.” Noctis said, eventually. “Let us table the discussion for the next full meeting. Tomorrow afternoon, if I’m not mistaken.”

He glanced Ignis’ way. His advisor gave a small nod of confirmation.

“Now, let’s move onto the next item of discussion.”

There was a sulky air about them; they’d been thwarted. Noctis wasn’t sure how Ignis had found out about the secret meeting—though his chamberlain had ears in every corner of the Citadel, he shouldn’t be surprised—and made a mental note to thank him later. Lord Prudencia brought up the next topic of debate: allocating funds for a fresh coat of paint on the Citadel’s exterior. Noctis sighed, resting his cheek on his palm, and tried to look interested.

~*~

Every evening after dinner, he spent some time with his father. His dad’s hospital room was stuffed to the brim with white flowers and cards of sympathy and well-wishing. It smelled more like a garden than a hospital room.

The doctors were unsure if the king could hear anyone in his state, but Noctis believed so. After the Marilith attack, he’d drifted back and forth from dreams to the thinnest layer of consciousness. He had feather-faint memories of his father’s voice, reading fairy tales to him as he recovered at a glacial pace.

He wasn’t sure his dad would appreciate childish bedtime stories, so instead he picked a book off his father’s shelf in his office. It was an old detective novel, the spine creased, random slips of paper shoved inside here and there where Regis had started to re-read and had run out of spare time for it.

After finishing the chapter for the night, he set the book back on the nightstand, amidst the clutter of unopened cards. His dad was looking better. His collection of black and purple bruises had faded to shades of yellow and brown. There was a healthy flush to his cheeks now; he was no longer so frighteningly pale. But even Noctis had no way of telling how his magic reserves fared, how long it would take them to replenish enough for him to awake.

Something wet and cold nudged against his thigh.

Noctis half-rose from his chair, startled, but eased back down once he saw it was just Umbra saying hello.

“Hey, boy.” He scratched the dog between the ears, and gave him some well-deserved pats. “You got something for me?”

Obediently, Umbra turned to show him the notebook, strapped securely to his back. He unhooked the notebook, and skimmed a hand reverently over the weathered cover. This was the third one they’d traded, and it was near-full. He and Luna couldn’t communicate in a way that would be tracked. Niflheim would never allow it. So they’d kept in touch through the years with the help of the messengers.

Noctis flipped to the back of the notebook, and grimaced at his words. His last message to her had been written in a rush, the penmanship messy, smeared here and there with ink where he’d rested his palm on the drying paper. It was full of complaints about his life, his father. Written when he’d been in a mood too emotional, and had used the notebook as an outlet. It all seemed so petty now in the wake of what had happened.

He turned the page to read Luna’s response.

 _My dear Noctis_ , she began. _I entreat you to forgive the delay in my response. Though I know he may not always explain his reasoning, I am certain every restraint your father places upon you is done out of his desire to keep you safe. I am sure in time he will see as I do the man you are becoming, and his stance on many of your issues will soften. Today, word has reached me of the attack upon you and your father. I will pray to the Gods daily for the safe recovery of the king. Gentiana confirms it won’t be long, now, before he awakens._

Noctis traced a finger over the line of gentle cursive. Won’t be long now. But what was considered a short span of time for a messenger of the Gods?

_I am certain you are doing wonderfully in your new responsibilities. And I’m equally certain you doubt that is the case. Please, heed the words of your old friend. Do not underestimate yourself simply because others do. Fondly, Luna._

Her words warmed his cheeks. Luna had always been too good to him. He’s never known what she saw in him.

Noctis scratched Umbra under the chin. The dog’s tail wagged furiously.

“I think I’m going to hold on to the notebook for a while.” He was sure he’d need to draw comfort from Luna’s words before long.

Umbra licked his hand in acknowledgement, and between one blink and the next, the messenger vanished.

Noctis tucked the journal close to his chest. He leaned over and pressed a goodnight kiss to his father’s brow.

“Get better soon, dad.”

~*~

There was no end to the reports.

Ignis did his best to summarize what he could, but as acting ruler, there was so much that Noctis had to be aware of. Years of knowledge he needed to be caught up to speed on. Fine details that couldn’t be glazed over or turned into bullet points.

Noctis read the same line of a new infrastructure proposal five times in a row before he gave up, setting the thick document down on his desk. It was impossible to focus when his mind was still preoccupied with what had happened earlier in the afternoon.

Cor had met with Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis to go over his finding of the investigation on the would-be assassin. They’d pulled a decent image of his face from the cameras dotted around the Citadel. The Accordian dignitaries identified him as Anguis Mercado. He’d told them all he was mayor of Guavo, one of Accordo’s smaller districts. Cor checked with the Accordian government, who swore they never sent along anyone from Guavo.

Cor determined the Accordians in holding were innocent, and released them back into the care of their government on the condition of their continued cooperation with the investigation.

The crownsguard had footage of Anguis entering the Citadel, but nothing of him leaving. Cor had his suspicions of a traitor in their midst, amongst either the ’guard or the glaives, who had helped Anguis escape and then looped the camera footage somewhere.

Noctis volunteered to help track down the traitor, but Cor shot him down, claiming he had enough to worry about.

“Something the matter?”

He blinked, and noticed Ignis standing before his desk with a fresh stack of reports for him to read through. Noctis had shredded the cover page of the infrastructure paperwork into tiny scraps as he’d been lost in his thoughts.

Noctis brushed the mess into a nearby trash can.

“Can you call Gladio in?”

There was a question in Ignis’ eyes, but wordlessly he did as Noctis asked.

“What’s up?” Gladio asked once they were all in Noctis’ living room. His eyes followed Noctis as he paced the floor.

Noctis stopped pacing, pivoting to face them.

“I need your help,” He admitted, quietly.

“Of course. Anything.” Ignis said. Gladio nodded with him.

“I need your help to track down Anguis and whoever helped him.”

“Cor is looking into it, you know that.”

“It’s not enough. If our situations were reversed, my father would throw everything he had into finding out who was involved. They can’t just get away with this.”

“And they won’t. But it is not wise to involve yourself in the investigation when you were one of the primary targets.” Ignis states the fact as if Noctis had forgotten he’d had a sword in his chest.

“But that’s why I’m perfect for it. If we dangle another opportunity to get at me before them, they’ll bite.”

Gladio arched an eyebrow, his voice heavy with skepticism. “You want to use yourself as bait.”

“I know neither of you like this, but I…” He swallowed, hands twisting the ring around his finger. “I have to do this. Gladio, you said I could come to you if I needed help.” He beseeched his Shield. “Well here I am, asking.”

Gladio sighed, and settled onto the couch, arms crossed. “Alright, what’s your plan?”

Ignis looked at him in askance. “You’re not seriously thinking—”

“The prince has his mind made up about this, whether we’re with him or not. I’d rather be involved and make sure he doesn’t try to do anything _too_ stupid.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gladio.”

“Anytime, kid.”

“Noct…” Ignis was still reluctant.

“Ignis, please. I can do this.” He turned on his most pleading expression, the same one which had persuaded Ignis as a child to sneak him out of the Citadel for night fishing and star gazing.

“…Very well.” Ignis relented. “I’m sure I can find a way to access the crownsguard’s file on the investigation. We can comb through their leads and go from there.”

Noctis grinned. “You guys are the best.”

~*~

“What’s he doing here?”

Prompto, who’d been standing in the living room of his suite, deflated visibly at Noctis’ question to Ignis.

“I didn’t mean—just.” Noctis ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m glad to see you, Prom. But why are you here right now? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing’s _wrong_ , per-se,” Prompto’s gaze flicked up, to Gladio and Ignis beyond him. “We just, uh, kinda thought…”

“You need an evening to relax.” Ignis broke in as Prompto faltered. “You have been performing most excellently in your father’s stead these past three weeks. But it’s crucial to take a break from time to time from being Prince Noctis, and just be Noct.”

“Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t have the time for—”

“You can’t tell me what you don’t have time for. I know your schedule more intimately than anyone. And you have nothing penciled in for the remainder of the evening, and your next meeting isn’t until noon tomorrow.” Then, quieter, “And narrowing down the list of suspects to a manageable number will take a few more days, I’m afraid.”

Ignis was right, but that wasn’t the point. He couldn’t do what they were asking. He couldn’t turn off his brain and just pretend nothing was wrong. He had no business lounging around with his friends when there was a stack of crownsguard patrol logs an inch thick on his desk, waiting to be read and analyzed.

Prompto came closer to the group, touching Noctis’ elbow. “Look man, if you’d rather us buzz off to give you some time alone, we can do that too.”

“But if that’s what you want, we’re taking all the reports out of your room,” Gladio grunted, his arms crossed. “You’re not getting any work done tonight, you can forget it.”

He was genuinely touched. Gladio and Ignis had accepted Prompto easily into their friend group, and all three of them had worked together to plan this night together for him.

“I’d...I’d like if you guys stayed, then. Thanks.”

The three smiles he received in return made it worth it.

They let Noctis decide what to do, but he was of the opinion that he’d made enough decisions throughout the course of the day, so he just told them to pick whichever game they felt like and flopped himself on the couch.

“Shove over.” Gladio nudged his legs so he could claim one side of the couch for himself.

Ignis settled himself in the recliner, and Prompto sat on the floor near Noctis, leaning back against the couch.

“No way!” Prompto squealed as he grabbed a game from the shelf still sealed in plastic. “You have Eternal Fighters Five? It doesn’t come out for another _month_!”

Noctis shrugged. “I posted a tweet about the series once, so now they send me advance copies.”

“ _Dude_.”

Prompto fed the disk into the ps4 and started a new game. They spent a good hour on the protagonist customization screen, arguing over what look and attributes would be best. Gladio, tasteless man he was, wanted their character to have a shaved head and the stats of a mercenary. Ignis insisted the dark elf was the best class in the game, due to the multitude of spells they could use. After much circular debating, Prompto compromised by making their character a rogue, who could wield spells but also had some bulk to him. Noctis insisted on hair, so he got the most ridiculous anime-style head of hair that Prompto could craft. After a slew of cutscenes, the game started properly. They traded off on the controller after each fight.

“Give me that,” Gladio snatched the controller out of Prompto’s hands as he died on the first boss of the game. “You’ve gotta learn how to do this neat thing called _dodging_.”

Prompto stuck his tongue out at him.

Noctis smiled, looking between his friends. This was…nice. It was rare to have all his friends together in the same room for more than a few minutes, just to spend time together. And Prompto, once past his initial awkwardness, fit seamlessly into the group, as if he’d always been a part of it.

“Ha!” Prompto snickered as Gladio died on the same boss. “Come on, Gladdy. Why don’t you try that little thing called dodging, huh?”

“Both of you have zero sense of strategy.” Ignis remarked, wearily. “Clearly, against a wind-type boss, the most effective technique is…”

His friends’ banter faded out as Noctis was drawn inwards. There was a building sense of….wrongness, in his chest. His hair rose on his arms. He felt sick, stricken with a powerful wave of foreboding.

“…Noct?” Gladio asked, cautiously, setting the controller to the side.

Prompto and Ignis turned to look at him, too. He’d shot upright from his slouched position on the couch. He pressed the heels of his palms over his closed eyes.

There was a touch on his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright there, buddy?” Prompto sounded nervous.

Something was prodding at him—no, not him. At his magic. The Wall. Searching out a weak spot.

“Something’s wrong.” He whispered.

Everyone froze.

Then the prodding became a pummeling—there was something bashing itself against his Wall, something big, trying to rip its way through.

“Shit!” Noctis’ hand clamped over his wrist. The Crystal shard embedded in his ring brightened. Heat crawled its way up his arm. The Crystal pulled more magic from him to shore up the Wall’s defenses.

“What’s happening?” Ignis pressed.

They were all hovering around him, unsure what to do.

“It’s—there’s someone—s-someone’s—” He couldn’t form a coherent sentence, his mind miles away. He could see it now, plainly as if he were standing there. Five behemoths, under Niflheim’s control. One of the Niffs barked something out, and then the group of behemoths moved in one concentrated effort to claw open the filmy barrier of the Wall.

Prompto let out a cry of alarm as the veins in Noctis’ arm lit orange with magic.

Noctis gasped with the pain of it. The Wall was his magic, a part of his soul. He felt every impact upon it in his core. The Wall shivered at the barrage of claws and horns and teeth, but maintained its form. For now.

“Ignis, they’re…”

“They’re _what_ , Noct?” His advisor pressed when his silence lapsed too long.

“I d-don’t know how long I can hold it.”

Ignis’ sharp mind worked through all Noctis left unsaid in an instant. Cursing, he grabbed his phone.

“What the hell’s going on?” Gladio demanded.

“The Empire is trying to break through the Wall. Cor needs to know, immediately.” He dialed the Marshal’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. “Keep him calm.”

Ignis stepped away from the group to convey the situation to Cor. Prompto turned off the idling game and settled on the couch next to Noctis. He kept up a stream of nervous chatter, and it helped Noctis stay grounded. Noctis kept his breathing deliberately slow, trying not to hyperventilate. Gladio didn’t know what to do with himself. He gripped his knees tightly, lips pursed in a flat line. There was nothing for him to do, no way to shield Noctis from it. And it ate away at him.

“Noct.” Ignis returned. “The Marshal needs to know where the attack is happening.”

“It’s—I don’t know. It’s just a desert. I don’t _know_.”

He’d never been outside the crown city, save for the trip to Tenebrae. And he’d been in pain and often asleep the entire journey there. The vast majority of his own kingdom was foreign to him.

“Are there any landmarks you can see?”

Noctis screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus past the imperials. Nothing but dust and the occasional bush. He looked. Further in the distance was a looming shadow.

“There’s a rock formation. A…a plateau? I’m not sure. But it’s big.”

Ignis relayed the information to Cor. After a moment, he hung up.

“Cor knows where it is. It’s past Hammerhead, near Longwythe. They’re heading there at once.” Ignis crouched down before Noctis, meeting his gaze. “Even if they clear the roads, it will take at least an hour for them to engage.”

An _hour_. Noctis bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t have a choice. He held the Wall until the crownsguard arrived, or Niflheim would invade.

Back in Leide, a drop ship hovered in the air, the back gate pulled open. An MT squatted before a mounted machine gun and methodically emptied the clip, spraying the Wall at random. The bullets’ trajectories were all stopped by the Wall. The flattened, now-harmless bullets slid off the magic veil to get lost in the sand.

They were trying to fracture his concentration. Noctis grit his teeth. There had to be more that he could do. He had to be both shield and sword for his people in this moment.

He looked to the ring. Could the Wall be weaponized?

The ring pulsed, as if the Lucii had heard his thoughts.

The air shimmered, and one of the wraith-kings from his dream appeared before him. Noctis gasped in shock, pushing back against the couch, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

“How? Who?”

 _Optimus the Wise_ , the Lucii whispered to him. The Lucian king wore glimmering, resplendent armor. A flurry of jet black wings sprouted from his back. King Optimus strode forward and clamped his armored hand around Noctis’ head. A burst of knowledge assaulted him—all in one rush, he understood the techniques Optimus had developed over the span of his lifetime for harmonizing the Wall with his elemancy.

“T-Thank you,” he shuddered. Optimus tilted his head. Noctis had a feeling the wise king was smiling at him, though the helm obscured his face.

Then, he was gone.

Prompto waved a hand in front of his face.

“You, uh. You still with us, Noct?” Prompto’s punctuating laugh was unsteady.

“Yeah. ‘m here.” Noctis dragged a hand down his face. “Did you see him?”

“Who?”

“The Wise King. Optimus.”

“We didn’t see anything,” Prompto explained, slowly, trading glances with the others. “You just zoned out and started talking to nothing.”

“He was—He was right in front of me.” Noctis flexed his hand. The Niffs continued the barrage, and his veins still glowed hot with magic. “I realize that sounds crazy.”

“Dude, your arm is literally on fire right now. Seeing ghosts isn’t too farfetched.”

“Perhaps we could not see him because we’re not part of the royal family. Or maybe only the wearer of the ring can see the Lucii.” Ignis said. “What did King Optimus want?”

“I asked how to fight with the Wall. And he showed me.”

“How to—Noct, no.” Gladio frowned. “Just wait for the crownsguard to get there, alright?”

“I can do more.”

“You’re doing more than enough.”

Noctis shook his head. “If I don’t get them to stop their barrage soon, the Wall might falter before they get there. I have to do something.”

A behemoth raked its claws against the Wall. Then, it roared with pain as the Wall’s temperature jumped past the melting point. Its extended claws melted to a grey liquid in an instant. There was a sizzling, popping noise. The smell of cooked flesh. Its whiskers and fur caught fire just from sheer proximity.

The behemoth staggered away, yelping and limping, badly hurt. The other behemoths howled in alarm, breaking free of the MTs that held their restraints to dart away from the searing heat.

“Noct!” Ignis called. By his tone, it wasn’t the first time.

He reluctantly dragged his focus back to his rooms, his body. He abruptly realized he was coated in sweat. The ring _burned_.

“What?” Stress and exhaustion made him snappish.

A hand pressed to his flushed cheek. Ignis ran warm, but his hand felt cool in comparison to Noctis’ face.

“Your body is burning up. Whatever it is you are doing, you have to stop it.”

“Can’t.” The empire halted their attack, contemplating how to reengage. If he tamped down on the heat, they’d just let the behemoths have at the Wall again.

“Wait. Maybe this’ll help.” Gladio rustled around in his pockets and produced an elemancy flask. While King Regis could call upon the elements at will, Noctis still needed to channel his magic into flasks before use.

Gladio pressed the empty flask into Noctis’ clammy grip.

“Try siphoning some of the heat out into this.”

Noctis wrapped his fingers around the ornate, enchanted glass. Magic simmered at his palm. The flask meant to contain his magic cracked under the heat, and the glass softened in his grip. He let the warped, useless thing drop onto the couch.

“Shit, okay.” Gladio met Ignis’ gaze. “Med bay?”

Ignis pushed a sweat-slicked strand of Noctis’ hair away from his eyes. “I believe that would be best. I’ll call—”

“No, it’ll be faster if I just carry him.” Gladio hefted Noctis in his arms, and swore softly. “He’s like fire.”

“If he gets too overheated the damage it causes would be irreparable.” Ignis said, and Prompto made a faint noise at that. “Let us hurry.”

Noctis weaved in and out of focus, his sight flickering to the edge of the Wall and back to the Citadel with dizzying speed.

Prompto ran ahead of the group to hold open the door for the Citadel’s hospital wing. The receptionist froze at the sight they made.

“Doctor. Now.” Gladio barked.

Noctis’ personal physician, Dr. Petram, was quick to come forward. Ignis related the situation to him rapid-fire.

“Follow me.”

The doctor led the group to an unoccupied room. He gestured to the bed.

“Set him down.”

Gladio deposited Noctis onto the bed. Noctis’ hand snagged weakly in his friend’s shirt. He groaned in protest. Gladio gently, reluctantly, pried his hand off.

“Let them take care of you, Noct. We’ll be waiting right outside for you, I promise.”

“No,” Noctis mumbled in dismay, hands clutching at empty air. He wanted his friends.

Dr. Petram peered over him. “You’ll see them again shortly, Highness. Now bear with us while we get you sorted.”

As his friends stepped outside the room, more doctors and nurses swarmed in.

A thermometer was shoved under his tongue. A heart monitor was clipped to his finger, and immediately they all heard the frantic, too-quick tempo of Noctis’ heart. He batted weakly at the hands that lifted his eyelids. The thermometer was removed, and then an IV was inserted into his wrist, supplying fluids desperately needed as his body kept sweating them out. Ice packs were pressed under his arms and on his groin in an attempt to lower his dangerously high temperature.

In Leide, another drop ship had landed. A squad of magitech armors trooped to the front lines. The radiating heat warped their metal hulls. Unperturbed, the magitech armors fired a barrage of missiles at the barrier.

The Wall rippled with each blast of a rocket, but Noctis would not let it fall. The magitech armors maintained their assault. Whenever an armor would run out of ammo, a soldier was there to resupply them.

The doctors hovered, afraid to touch Noctis as the orange glow crept up his shoulder and spiderwebbed across his chest, branched out along his neck. He felt dizzily nauseous, and within minutes he was spitting vomit onto the pillow.

He thrashed feebly as he was lifted and the pillow replaced. The smear of puke was wiped from his face with a wet cloth.

The ring throbbed on his hand, and then the composition of the Wall changed rapidly. Great icicles spiked out, piercing the magitech armors that had strayed too close to his Wall.

It wasn’t enough. There were still more armors standing, and drop ships dotting the sky. The ice receded, static buzzing in its place. Powerful bolts of lightning struck outward, frying the remaining magitech armors and one of the drop ships. Noctis watched the ship crash heavily to the ground, spraying sand everywhere.

There was the thick taste of something metallic in his mouth. He heard raised voices, but could no longer pick apart sounds from Insomnia from those in Leide.

Noctis felt a prick in the crook of his arm. A needle? The cracks of orange that ran across his body grew brighter still, but he felt nothing.

His world was squeezed, his vision tunneling. It was impossible to keep his heavy eyes open, but he needed to, the crownsguard weren’t there yet, he needed…

He lapsed into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: ending chapters with someone falling unconscious is so dumb
> 
> also me: does exactly that twice in one fic oTL


	4. Chapter 4

Noctis awoke to the Lucii bellowing in his skull. They were _furious_. 

_How dare they,_ the monarchs of the past hissed with the spite of a thousand years. How dare the empire attempt such a craven attack on their young sovereign. The gall of them to think themselves worthy of setting foot on Insomnian soil. They needed to pay for their insolence to the King of Kings, every last one of them. They needed to be shown that Noctis wasn’t Lucis’ weakness, but its strength.

Noctis bowed under the unrelenting pressure of the Lucii’s command.

There were tubes that snaked up the side of his hospital bed, attached to his arm. As he tried to get up, they snagged. He wrapped his hand around the tubing and yanked it out.

There were others in the room with him, speaking to him, but the Lucii demanded his full attention. His pulse thundered in his ears. He had to get out of the Citadel, had to check the borders of the Wall to make sure every last Niff had been crushed to nothing. The ring sparked angrily. So help any that had survived his defenses.

Hands grabbed at him, but he wrenched himself free of all of them. The Lucii’s fury gave him inhuman strength. People were shouting, following after him. A needless distraction. Noctis ran through the front doors of the medical wing and threw up a barrier behind him to keep them put. They pounded their fists on the magic, but he knew it would hold. They wouldn’t be able to so much as scratch it.

His bare feet slapped loudly over the marble title as he ran through the halls. The Lucii would not wait for him to prepare for battle. He had to go _now_. Astrals only knew how long he’d been unconscious already, how much time Niflheim had been granted to construct fortresses at the Wall’s edge. It would not be allowed.

Someone grabbed him from behind, hooking their arms under his and pulling him back against their chest. A Niff? Noctis tried to twist around to see, but their grip was too firm. He struggled, kicking and elbowing them in an attempt to free himself, but they held firm. A dagger materialized in his hand, but his captor’s hand shot forward to twist his wrist, forcing him to drop it.

“Highness, that’s enough.” Came a familiar, firm voice. He knew that voice, didn’t he, it was—it didn’t matter, he was stopping Noctis from getting out there, he was in his way—

“Let go of me!” Noctis snarled, straining against the pair of arms wrapped around him like manacles. “I have to go. I have to stop them—”

“Niflheim has already been repelled. You will help no one by storming out of the Citadel in a rage. Calm yourself, Prince Noctis.”

 _Lies_ , the Lucii spat. Noctis tried to whip his head back and bash the man’s chin, but he was taller, and evaded him easily.

“Liar, you’re lying—”

“I vow to you that the threat has been eliminated.” The man’s calloused hand covered Noctis’. His palm touched the cold metal of the ring. “You know me.” He said, not to Noctis, but the inhabitants of the heirloom.

The Lucii’s discontent ebbed until it became little more than a simmer. With their voices subdued, Noctis was able to pick out his own thoughts from theirs.

Suddenly, all the energy he’d had evaporated, and he sank completely into the man’s hold. He was eased to the ground, and then their position was shifted so he was meeting the steel blue eyes of Cor.

“Are you back with us?” Cor studied him.

“Yeah.” Noctis went to rub at his eyes, but his arm twinged at the movement. He glanced down. Blood trailed from his arm where he’d yanked the IV drip free. He hardly remembered doing it; everything was a haze. “What happened to me? How did they…?”

It was like he was stripped of all agency. A puppet in his own body. He was but a conduit to the whims of the Lucii. He felt so out of control, it was frightening.

People were watching, peering at them from around both ends of the hallway, out of nearby doors. The prince running barefoot and wild-eyed through the halls in nothing but a hospital gown must’ve been a sight to see. Suddenly embarrassed, Noctis hunched in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Cor leveled a flat glare at the gather of servants and crownsguard until they all dispersed.

Once they had privacy, Cor spoke. “From what King Regis has told me, the Lucii sometimes will speak to him when the war takes a bad turn. They want him to take direct action on the front lines, and he has to lay out arguments against them before they fall silent.”

Noctis shivered, rubbing his arms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let them do that to me.” Imagine if he had successfully staggered his way out of the Citadel. He could’ve put himself—and thereby the Wall—in danger.

“They are ancient and powerful. There’s no shame in it.”

“Yeah, but I bet Dad never—”

“Your father did not put on the ring until King Mors passed. He was 23, then.” Cor held him by the shoulders. “Your Highness, look at me.” Reluctantly, Noctis dragged his gaze up to meet Cor’s. “You are still a child. I know that many, myself included, constantly push you to act older than you are out of necessity. But we also know you are still growing, still learning. You don’t have to be infallible.” Cor’s mouth twitched upwards in a rare, small smile. “Us adults certainly aren’t.”

This was probably the most he’d heard Cor speak at one time. He nodded numbly.

Cor’s gaze flicked to Noctis’ arm. It bled sluggishly. “Let’s get that bandaged up.”

Cor gripped him by his good arm, and helped him to stand back upright again. The Marshal didn’t let go, instead helping him at a slow shuffle back towards the Citadel’s medical wing.

“So what did happen in Leide?”

“When we reached the source of the attempted breach, you had already handled most of the work for us.” There was a hint of admonishment in his tone. “Still, we conducted a thorough sweep of the area. The empire had been attempting to install several blockades and forts near the border, which we dismantled. I was going to wait until the next council meeting for this, but I have been discussing with Drautos the possibility of opening up a fort of our own near the Wall’s edge. If they try to attack the Wall again, we’ll be much closer at hand.”

“And do you know why…” He didn’t know how to phrase it, other than point blank asking the Marshal _why am I so weak?_

Cor waited patiently as he groped for the right words.

“When the Niffs were attacking, it felt like they were attacking _me_. It was so hard to just keep the Wall steady.”

Cor stopped short, eyes widening. Noctis really didn’t want to admit to any of this, but Cor needed to know it as a matter of security.

“This was just a small attempt at a breach. If Niflheim strikes again, with an actual army…” Noctis bit his lip. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop that.”

“You said you felt everything?”

“Yeah, right here.” Noctis rubbed a hand over his heart. “In my core.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“It’s...not?”

“Summon an icicle.”

Noctis was confused, but did as Cor asked. He pulled upon his elemancy, and a foot-long icicle materialized in his hand.

“Now what?”

Cor took the icicle from him—and threw it at the wall. It shattered into pieces, which fell to the ground.

“...Uh?”

“That didn’t hurt you.” It wasn’t a question, really, but still Noctis shook his head.

“The Wall is supposed to be the same way. You’re not supposed to be so deeply connected to it.” Cor sounded frustrated, and it made Noctis feel guilty. Like he should’ve been able to figure this all out on his own. “It’s an advanced barrier spell, nothing more.”

“I’ve never been good with white magic. Maybe that’s why.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As a child, he’d been far more in tune with his core. Some days he’d wake up and his canopy would be iced over, fat snowflakes drifting serenely around the room. Once he’d found a bird with an injured wing in the gardens, and healing magic had jumped from his hands almost instantly. But then the Marilith had nearly severed both his magical prowess and his spine.

It was an effect of the Scourge in the wound, the Queen of Tenebrae had explained. His magic had surged to protect him from the near-fatal wound and the worst of the plague, and though Noctis survived, it was not without cost. Though he’d eventually regained mobility of his legs, his magical ability had remained stunted ever since.

Cor took his arm again, once more leading him down the hall.

“Drautos and I will ensure an attack like this doesn’t happen again,” Cor vowed. “And we’ll see if we can locate texts on the Wall’s magical construction as well. If one of your ancestors knew of another way to build it, perhaps they wrote it down.”

Noctis’ gaze dropped to the ring on his hand. Cor sounded optimistic, but he wasn’t so sure. If there’d been another way, a better way, to construct the Wall, surely the Lucii would have guided him to it. His lack of magical ability likely meant he had to pour more of himself into the barrier than past kings had.

Noctis felt a prickle of unease. If Niflheim were to learn of his weakness when he became king…

Best not to think on that right now.

At last, they turned a corner to reach the medical wing. Noctis’ three very distressed and relieved friends shouted his name, the sound muffled by the wall of magic between them. Gladio had his broadsword in hand—had he tried to cut through the barrier?

“Sorry! Sorry.”

Noctis hurried over and touched his palm to the barrier. The magic splintered into thousands of shimmering fragments before it disappeared entirely.

“You guys okay?”

“Are _we_ okay, he asks.” Prompto grumbled. He looked like he wanted to tackle Noctis in a hug. But then he caught sight of Noctis’ arm, and thought better of it.

“Your eyes have returned to normal,” Ignis sounded relieved.

Noctis brushed a hand under one, self-conscious. “What do you mean?” His eyes felt perfectly normal to him.

“When you woke up, they were red.” Gladio explained.

“And glowing!” Prompto added. “You looked, like, possessed!”

Noctis grimaced, which made Prompto blanch.

“Holy shit, were you actually—?”

“Further discussion can wait.” Cor cut in, nudging Noctis forward. “Get your arm seen to before anything else.”

“Right.”

Cor left them to go about his business with a short nod, and Noctis was steered back to his room in the medical wing. A nurse came in to wipe off the drying blood and bandage his arm. Shortly thereafter, his doctor entered the room.

Noctis’ friends chatted quietly as the doctor poked and prodded him.

“It looks like your body has returned to its normal state.” The doctor flipped Noctis’ hand over, marveling at the pale, unblemished skin. “No fever, and not a trace of damage from usage of the ring remains. Fascinating.”

“Is he okay to be released?” Ignis asked.

“I see no reason why not.” The doctor looked to Noctis, arching an eyebrow. “Unless you’re experiencing any side effects that you’re not telling me, Prince Noctis.”

His arm felt fine. He was tired, but he always was these days.

“I’m alright.”

The doctor scrutinized him, and Noctis felt a bit indignant that the man didn’t take his word for it. But after a few additional tests, the doctor deemed him healthy enough and gave him leave to go.

The guys waited for Noctis to redress in his clothes from yesterday—they were stiff from dried sweat, _gross_ —and then together they headed back to his rooms.

“So where were you even going?” Prompto asked, swinging his arms as he walked.

“Out.” Noctis shrugged. “Was going to run to the Wall’s edge. Make sure we got all the Niffs.”

There was silence as they processed this, then Ignis pressed a knuckle to his mouth, and said, too-thoughtfully:

“I wonder....crown citizens often emulate Your Highness’ fashion choices, no matter how questionable they might be. If you’d left the Citadel, I wonder if hospital gown-like dress would be in vogue?”

Noctis leveled him a flat, unamused look. “What.”

“A gender-neutral look.” Gladio added. “Quite progressive of you, Noct.”

“It’s a breathable material,” Prompto chimed in. “Perfect for summer, right?”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Noctis said, but there was a small smile on his face.

Once back in the familiar surroundings of his rooms, Noctis mumbled something to his friends about a shower, grabbed some clothes, and locked himself in the bathroom. After the hectic wake-up, he needed a few minutes to himself.

The scalding hot water was a balm for the ache of his muscles. Every day he wore the ring made him feel more like an old man. His knee and back, which once only bothered him after unusually strenuous activity, now were near-constantly aggravated. He rolled a palm over his slightly swollen knee, and hissed at the resulting pain. There was a deep ache inside him. He felt brittle, like one bad spill down the steps would snap his bones.

He drew deep lungfuls of humid air. He’d get through it. He had to.

After a few more minutes, he stepped out of the bathroom in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, feeling worlds better. He toweled off his wet hair before tossing the towel into his laundry hamper.

Prompto, upon spotting him, waved him over to the couch. A cartoon was playing on the television.

“Aw, man. Now I know why you don’t take morning showers before class.” Prompto snickered. “Without hair gel, you look like a drowned rat.”

“Better than looking like a chocobo butt.” Noctis bumped his shoulder against Prompto’s.

Prompto clutched at his hair, protectively. “It so does not!”

Noctis glanced around, searching for Ignis and Gladio. Sensing his question before he asked it, Prompto said, “Gladio said he had some business to take care of, whatever _that_ means. And Ignis went to grab us some grub.”

Noctis hummed, noncommittal.

They fell into a silence then, content. After all the frantic chaos they’d been through yesterday and this morning, it was nice to just sit and do nothing. They watched the cartoon—some kind of fairytale story about a traveling chocobo and cactuar—and Prompto snickered occasionally at the gags.

“Sorry.” Noctis blurted, suddenly. At Prompto’s confused look over at him, he clarified, “Bet all this drama and stuff with the ring isn’t what you thought you were signing up for when you said hello to me at school, huh?”

This all had to be overwhelming for Prompto. This was only his third time visiting the Citadel, which Noctis knew he found stressful enough on its own. A quiet night of videogaming had transformed into a nightmare. Noctis was afraid they’d soon reach a point where Prompto gave up, their friendship not worth all the stress and effort it demanded.

Prompto responded with an unexpected lack of levity. He met Noctis eye to eye. “Noct, no. I’m exactly where I want to be right now. I may not have been around nowhere near as long as Gladio and Ignis, but I’m still your friend. I want to help you out, however I can. All this crazy stuff that’s been going on, that doesn’t scare me. I mean, I’m scared _for_ you, but like. It’s not scaring me away. I’m here for you, man. As long as you need me.”

Noctis felt a rush of gratitude, and his cheeks flushed. He looked away, scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. Astrals, Prompto was a _saint_.

“Thanks,” Noctis mumbled, eventually.

Prompto winked, his serious expression giving way to something much lighter.

“No problem, boblem.”

They kept watching the chocobo cartoon until Ignis returned with lunch.

~*~

Noctis let out an exaggerated howl of rage as Gladio knocked him flat to the floor.

“Again,” Gladio said, an unusual coldness in his tone. He didn’t offer a hand up as he usually did, instead watching with annoyance as Noctis dragged himself upright.

Noctis risked a quick glance to the side, where some curious kingsglaives had come to observe their training session—and he had to force down a fierce, victorious grin.

Three days ago, the day after the Wall had been attacked, Gladio had left the group to eat lunch in the Citadel’s mess hall, as he had taken to doing since the start of Noctis’ plan. It was one of the few places where it wasn’t strange to see glaives, crownsguard, and Citadel staff of every stripe all mingled together. No one would raise an eyebrow at the prince’s Shield eating among them.

While he ate, Gladio spent his time quietly observing one fresh-faced glaive in particular: Rektor Silva.

Silva was a new inductee to the kingsglaive program. A Galahdian immigrant. Through some quiet probing by Ignis, they discovered that Silva had lost his parents and childhood sweetheart when Niflheim had conquered Galahd. This wasn’t the first time the empire got its hooks into a grieving young man and radicalized him.

He’d caught Gladio’s attention when he snuck spare rations beneath his clothes at every meal. Gladio suspected that they didn’t have footage of Anguis leaving the Citadel because he, in fact, never had. It was possible that Silva had squirreled away the would-be assassin in some secret nook of the Citadel, and was sneaking him food as they bided their next step. With the extra security Cor had placed on both the king and the prince, they hadn’t had another opportunity worth taking to risk another attempt on the royals’ lives.

That’s why Noctis was going to give them one.

He and Gladio moved their daily practice from Noctis’ own training room to one of the communal ones. They made sure to schedule their session for the same time Silva and his squad had requested; the training room was large enough to accommodate them all. It was something of a rarity for Noctis to be down here, though, so his presence drew attention. Silva was here, watching them. Of course, the man wouldn’t be so bold as to attack him here and now. That was fine, that wasn’t their plan.

Noctis tossed his head back, the picture of a bratty, spoilt prince. He threw his dulled practice sword onto the mat.

“Whatever. I’m done with this.”

“Oi. We’re not finished. Get back here!”

“Yeah, well, I say we are, and what I say goes.” Noctis turned his back on Gladio, waving his hand in a careless manner.

Gladio mumbled expletives under his breath, collecting Noctis’ dropped sword to clean it and place it back on the weapon rack alongside the wall.

Noctis retrieved his workout bag from the locker room adjoined to the practice room. He sipped at a bottle of water, and waited.

Moments later, Gladio trudged in, as well as several glaives, including Silva.

“Make sure you practice the drills we went over for next week.” Gladio said.

Noctis slung his bag over his shoulder, and didn’t even grace Gladio with an answer as he made to walk out. Gladio let out an explosive breath, but said nothing.

Instead of leaving, though, Noctis ducked behind a second row of lockers. Sure, Gladio would fill him in later on what went down, but he wanted to hear it all for himself.

Noctis lingered and listened to the cacophony of noise as the glaives chattered through their quick showers. Eventually, he heard the clomp of heavy boots as most of the men filed out.

“Coming, Rektor?” One asked.

“Just a minute!” The glaive said.

Now it was just him and Gladio.

“So, that’s the crown prince.” Silva fished, tone decidedly neutral. “It’s my first time seeing him so up close.”

“Gods, he’s such a brat.” Gladio snarled. “He never takes a damn thing seriously.”

Noctis waited, not daring to so much as breathe, praying Silva would take the bait.

He did.

“It seems Shield duty isn’t as glamorous as the papers would have us believe.” Silva hedged. Testing the water. Trying to parse out the depths of Gladio’s loyalty.

Gladio ranted on.

“You’re telling me. My dad gets sworn to a man like King Regis, and I’m stuck with... _that_.”

Noctis winced. He knew Gladio was lying through his teeth, but hearing those words from Gladio’s mouth still kind of stung.

His Shield continued. “Now I’ve got to sacrifice my one day off this week because of his latest “brilliant” idea. He wants to drive out to the Wall’s border on Saturday and get some pictures of him with the refugees.”

“Is that wise? He shouldn’t leave the Citadel at a time like this…” Silva asked, like he was actually concerned for Noctis’ welfare, and oh, Noctis just wanted to vault over the lockers and punch him in the mouth. Rumblings from the Lucii said they would not be opposed, but he stifled the urge. It was better to catch Silva red-handed, and lure Anguis out.

“Yeah, well. You try telling him that. All he cares about is getting the good press, nevermind who he inconveniences along the way.” Gladio let out a long-suffering sigh. “This is what happens when you never tell a kid “no”. I don’t even know who I’ll get to come in for this on such short notice.”

“I-I could go!” Silva blurted. Then, he realized he sounded too eager, and dialed back his enthusiasm. “I mean, I could use the overtime.”

“I hear that,” Gladio sympathized. “I feel for the glaives. At least I get to stay in Insomnia most days. But they’ve got you out risking your necks on the front lines for damn near minimum wage.”

“Yeah, well, you know, for king and country, and all that.” Silva muttered, sarcastic.

“Tell you what. I’ll put in a word with Drautos, see that you get added to the guard roster.”

“Appreciate it,” Silva said, sealing his fate.

~*~

Later that evening, Noctis arranged to meet with Drautos privately, in the waiting room before the throne room. The throne room was where Regis conducted most matters of court, but Noctis had moved everything to the council chambers in his absence. He had no intention of sitting atop his father’s throne, not until it was passed down to him properly.

Drautos was punctual, as always. He snapped off a quick bow in greeting.

“You wanted to see me, Your Highness?”

Noctis slid his gaze away from a tapestry on the wall to meet the captain’s attentive gaze.

“Yes. I need you to make preparations for an excursion. I’m going to Leide. Tomorrow. To get an in-person look at the new refugee camps at the fringe of the Wall.”

Drautos’ composure slipped, his eyes bulging. Any other time, Noctis would’ve laughed at his shock.

“Prince Noctis, you cannot just simply—the risks are far too great. Voyages beyond Insomnia take months of preparation.”

This was a ridiculous request for Noctis to make. Had he not been acting regent, Drautos would’ve dismissed him entirely. But right now, the captain didn’t have much of a choice but to go along with his whims.

“We don’t have that kind of time.” Noctis insisted. “No, I’ve decided. It _must_ be tomorrow. Send your best along as a security detail if that eases your fears. But I need you to make sure Glaive Silva accompanies me.”

“Rektor? Highness, he’s mostly untrained.”

“What better way to learn? Regardless, I want him there.” The unspoken “and my wish is your command” lingered between them.

Drautos scrutinized him, no doubt wondering why Noctis would single out a greenhorn to go on a mission with the potential to go horribly, horribly wrong.

“Can you do that for me?” Noctis pressed. Let Drautos chew it over in his own time. Noctis didn’t owe him an explanation, and he had further preparations to make this evening.

Drautos returned to professionalism. “Of course, Your Highness. It’ll all be arranged. What time are you heading out tomorrow?”

“Eight o’clock, sharp.” Noctis called over his shoulder, as he started to walk out. “Make sure your men aren’t late.”

~*~

Noctis awoke before his alarm. He’d barely slept, but he was the furthest thing from exhausted. He was rigid with anticipation, his whole body buzzing with magic like a live wire.

This was it. All their preparations led to this. Once Silva and Anguis were out of the picture, his Dad would be that much safer.

Noctis shaved and dressed quickly. His black battle fatigues were designed to look like normal clothes, stylish but nonfunctional. But powerful defensive magics were woven into the very fibers of the black garments. Enchanted clothing was uncommon outside of the royal family’s wardrobe, and was great for making someone protected look vulnerable to attack.

Ignis had graciously promised to attend his meetings today in his stead. There was nothing left but to head down to the garage with Gladio. Noctis stepped out of his suite to greet him—

“ _Cor_?” Noctis blurted, thrown. Instead of his stalwart Shield, the Marshal had taken up post at Noctis’ door.

Cor was listening intently to a device in his ear. Noctis heard the faint murmur of a voice on the other end. Cor held up his hand for a moment of quiet, and Noctis shut his mouth.

“Call me if anything changes,” Cor ordered, before he tapped the earpiece once to end the call.

“What’s going on? Where’s Gladio?”

“He left, oh,” Cor checked his watch. “Two hours ago. Along with the convoy to Leide.”

Ice dragged down Noctis’ spine. “What? But that doesn’t—I said eight!” And how the hell could they leave without him?

“We’re not discussing this here.” Cor took him by the arm and all-but hauled him back inside his rooms.

Noctis yanked his arm out of Cor’s grip the second the door was shut.

“Cor, what the hell?”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out what you were up to?”

Oh, shit.

“I…”

“I told you the crownsguard would handle the investigation into the attack at the gala. You told me you understood. Imagine my surprise when my lieutenant notices one Ignis Scientia poking around our investigation files.”

“There’s—There’s no way Ignis would’ve gotten caught. If he’d done anything. Which he didn’t.” Noctis wasn’t ready to admit to it all yet.

“I give him credit for trying to disguise his IP address. But I employ the top cybersecurity experts in the city.” Cor sighed. “And honestly, did you think Drautos wouldn’t share information with me, either? We gleaned your intentions easily enough.”

“So then, this morning?”

“The little excursion to Leide you planned left at six. We used your body double in your stead. Gladio went along to provide authenticity. If Silva and his accomplice try anything, Drautos and his glaives will apprehend them.”

“I should be there. You had no right to undermine me.”

“I have every right.” Cor said, gravely. His face was like a thundercloud. “The safety of you and His Majesty are my primary priority, at all times. Nothing is more important. Do you honestly think I’d willingly let you climb into a car when there’s a good chance a terrorist may have planted a bomb on it?”

Noctis paled. He’d been fine with risking his own life to apprehend the would-be assassins. But he hadn’t really stopped to think that he was effectively risking Gladio’s life in the process. And it wasn’t just him, now; his body double was a civilian with no combat training, just the misfortune of sharing his face.

Cor read his expression, and softened but a fraction. “You may watch the video feed from inside the cars with me, until they are apprehended. But believe me, I will see to it that there are consequences for this. Your father will not be pleased to hear what you tried to do.”

Noctis only shrugged, not balking under the threat. If he had to scrub the Citadel from top to bottom with only a toothbrush, then so be it. He’d do it all again.

“Come along, then,” Cor huffed. “I swear, you’re too much like Regis for your own good.”

~*~

The central crownsguard office had a distinctive smell to it. There was the strong scent of coffee, overlaid with the smell of yellowed papers (the crownsguard never threw anything out, _ever_ ) and the “springtime fresh” laundry detergent the Citadel staff used when washing big batches of uniforms.

Even on a Saturday, there were folks bustling around the office. Some typed up mission reports at their desks, while others answered tip lines. As Cor and Noctis passed by, the crownsguard who were gathered in front of the coffee machine all simultaneously straightened up and tried to look busy.

Cor brought Noctis into a conference room. A series of screens were rigged up on one of the walls, playing several angles from hidden cameras in the interiors of the two armored cars. Gladio and Noctis’ body double were in one car, which was driven by Drautos himself. Inside the second vehicle were Silva and more seasoned glaives. Noctis recognized Nyx Ulric and Crowe Altius; the other two, he was unfamiliar with.

There were several crownsguard in the conference room already. Two had headphones in, ostensibly one listening in on either car. They’d recorded shorthand notes on some of the discussion thus far.

A third crownsguard glanced up at their entrance, and nodded politely.

“They just left Insomnia and are on the highway. Long stretch of open road with no real traffic. We think it shouldn’t be too long now before they make their move.”

Noctis slid into one of the spare seats, and grabbed a pair of headphones for himself. A dial on the side let him switch between both audio feeds. Gladio made small talk with his body double, attempting to put the guy at ease. In the glaive car, easy banter flowed between Crowe and Nyx, the other pair of glaives chiming in occasionally. Silva remained quiet and solemn, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

Noctis watched and waited in tense silence as the hour crawled by.

Then, it happened.

The first car hit something in the road, and swerved wildly. Drautos cursed, jerking the wheel and trying to regain control. The driver in the glaives’ car hurriedly slammed on the brakes to stop a collision.

Drautos pulled over and put the car in park before he stepped out to inspect the damage.

After a moment, he returned to tell Gladio, “Tire’s flat. Must’ve been spikes set down in the road.”

Drautos disappeared again from the car, and in a moment they heard a knock on the glaives’ car. Crow reached over and slid the tinted window down.

Drautos stuck his head in. “Our car’s got a flat. Rookie, you know how to change a tire?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get to it then. The rest of you, stay alert.”

Silva scrambled out of the car, apologizing as he accidentally stepped on Crowe’s foot on the way out. Once he was gone, the rest of the glaives looked amongst each other with a grim determination. No doubt they’d been apprised of the true goal of the mission.

There weren’t cameras on the outsides of the vehicles, so Noctis could only sit, coiled like a spring, straining to hear the faint noises the speakers picked up. There was the sound of a trunk slamming, some chatter.

Then the car door was yanked open. Silva grabbed Noctis’ body double by the shirtfront with one hand, a gun in his other hand. Gladio lunged, but wasn’t fast enough; a bullet caught him in the shoulder. Silva dragged the man outside. Gladio grit his teeth and charged out of the car after them.

By the time Noctis managed to tear his gaze away from Gladio and look at the other car, it was empty; the glaives had already moved to respond to the threat.

Noctis heard the sound of warping, the clang of metal on metal. Choked-off screams.

After what felt like an eternity, Gladio shoved himself back into the car. He was clutching his still-bleeding shoulder, his hair askew and eyes wild. He stared directly at one of the cameras.

“He talked. It’s a two-pronged attack, they’re going after the king too!”

“Dad,” Noctis whispered, eyes wide.

Cor lunged for him, but Noctis had already thrown a dagger behind him. Three warps and he was out of the crownsguard office and far outpacing Cor. The man might be faster on his feet than Noctis will ever be, but even he couldn’t compete with warp magic.

Noctis tore through the halls, sending his body through warp after warp. He knew he was risking the worst stasis of his life, but he could deal with that later. If he didn’t make it—if Dad got killed when he was _right here_ , Noctis would never forgive himself.

Noctis ran out into a central atrium, chest heaving. He ignored the looks he gathered from staff and guards.

They’re keeping his dad on the sixth floor medical bay. He could see the balcony overlooking the atrium from here. He didn’t have the time to wait for an elevator—what if Anguis cut the lines to slow them up?

“Your Highness—?”

Noctis brushed past the concerned, curious crowd, breaking into a run. He aimed his dagger up towards the sixth floor balcony, and heaved it. He skipped through space, now twenty feet off the floor. He pivoted in the air, chucking the dagger up higher still. He reappeared again in the air, gaze flickering around rapidly to locate— _there_.

His third warp sent him flying onto the sixth floor balcony. He was unable to stop his forward momentum, and crashed headfirst into a ficus.

He spit out dirt, and wiped his mouth with the back of one palm. When he stood, he had to catch himself on the nearby wall. He’d never performed more than two consecutive warps before. His body shook, teetering just on the precipice of a downward turn.

Noctis pushed himself away from the wall and ran for his father. He sent a quick prayer up to the Astrals, that was more a plea than anything. Please, please, he’ll give them anything if he’s not too late.

The hospital wing was awash with gore. Noctis ran past the crumpled bodies of doctors and nurses, as well as the two crownsguard who’d been assigned to his father’s door. All had been stabbed fatally through their chests, their blood sticky on the tile flooring.

“Dad!” Noctis rushed inside his father’s room.

Regis was still in his hospital bed. The heart monitor dutifully recorded the steady beat of his pulse.

The king’s very last line of defense was Clarus. His father’s Shield had locked swords with Anguis, in a stalemate. They were both littered with cuts and bruises.

Clarus’ gaze cut away to Noctis for a second.

“Get out of here!” He bellowed. “Run, now!”

Anguis seized upon Clarus’ moment of distraction, and got in a deep cut to Clarus’ side. Clarus hissed a curse, and dropped to his knees.

Anguis turned to face Noctis, a vicious grin curling his lips.

“So the boy’s intel was false. No matter. Both of you will still die today.”

Noctis knew he didn’t stand much of a chance against Anguis. The assassin would have finished him the night of the gala, had his father not been there to pull him back from the brink. And he hadn’t been shaking from near-stasis then.

No, Noctis didn’t stand a chance. At least, not on his own.

Noctis raised his hand. “Kings of Lucis!”

The Ring of the Lucii brightened, and the wraith-kings answered his call with a bolt of magic. It struck Anguis in the chest, through the heart. The man dropped his sword and _screamed_. The ring clawed away his life force, his very essence of being. With a series of sickening cracks and pops, his bones warped and shrunk. Anguis curled in on himself, body twisting itself up smaller and smaller until—

He was gone. There was a light _pop_ as the ring’s spell ended. And there wasn’t a trace left of Anguis, save for the sword he’d dropped.

Before, Noctis was moments from collapse. Now, he felt he could take on an entire army if he had to. This was the true power of the kings of yore.

Noctis crossed the room, to his father’s side.

Clarus was watching him, a hand clapped over his injury, his eyes wide in astonishment.

“Noctis, you really—”

“Noctis! Regis!”

Cor burst into the room, katana drawn, sweat dripping down his forehead. Several less-graceful crownsguard stumbled in behind him, wheezing for air. The Marshal’s gaze swept over the room, finding no threat.

“What happened here? Where did he go?”

One of the crownsguard handed off a potion to Clarus; he took it gratefully.

“Anguis is dead.” Noctis reported. He took his father’s hand in his own, and pressed it to his cheek, closing his eyes. He should probably feel something. Horror, self-disgust. He just killed a man. And he didn’t just stab or shoot him. He ripped apart the very fabric of his being to nothing. And to protect his father, or his friends, he knew he’d do it again. Noctis let out a low sigh. “It’s over now.”

~*~

After he was debriefed and given the Lecture of a Lifetime™ by Cor, Noctis was practically frogmarched back to his room, and put under the guard to two watchful glaives. “In case you get any more brilliant ideas,” Cor had said, expression flat.

Noctis called Gladio right away, and his Shield was quick to reassure him that his injury had already been treated with a potion.

With nothing else to do until Ignis returned that evening, Noctis sat on the couch and tried to make some headway on the paperwork mountain. But before long his eyes grew heavy, and he dozed off.

When Noctis awoke again, several hours later, he realized two things. One, someone had tugged a blanket over him while he slept. And two, there was a hand carding through his hair. The gentle touch felt familiar, comforting. Only one person had ever stroked his hair like this.

Noctis’ eyes flew open.

“Dad?”

Sure enough, his father was right beside him. In a wheelchair, and rather gaunt-looking, but upright and awake and _alive_.

“Dad!”

Noctis threw himself around his dad’s chest, into a tight hug. His father reciprocated, squeezing him just as firmly. Noctis pressed his ear to his father’s chest, listening to the steady, strong thrum of his heart.

“Noctis.” His dad pressed a kiss to the crown of Noctis’ head.

“I’m not dreaming this time, right?”

Regis’ grip tightened, and Noctis was so relieved by the firmness of his grip, the clear indication of his father’s recovered strength. His Dad was _okay_.

“This is real, my son. I’ve come back to you.”

“When did you wake up?” And why did no one fetch Noctis _immediately_? He glanced around the room. The glaives from before were gone. Perhaps his Dad had dismissed them when he came in.

Regis’ lips quirked up in a smile. “Not ten minutes after you saved my life, if you could believe it.”

Noctis bit back a groan. That was just _unfair_.

“Clarus, Cor, and the others have filled me in on all that happened whilst I was...indisposed.” Regis ran a hand down Noctis’ arm. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “My son, I cannot even begin to tell you how proud I am of you. You’ve proved that you will be every bit the king I knew you could be.”

It was too much. It was all Noctis had ever wanted to hear from his father, but now that he was saying it, he didn’t know how to react. He muttered a denial and moved back, to disentangle them, but Regis held firm, kept him put.

“Take pride in your achievements, Noctis.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Noctis said, honestly.

He was overjoyed, but something felt off. There was a flicker of panic as Noctis realized—the ring. That was what he was missing. He couldn’t hear the hum of the Lucii, feel the slow drain of the Wall. He looked to his hands. The ring was gone. It was back in its rightful place, on his father’s right hand.

Noctis swallowed. “Are you sure you should be wearing it already?”

“Despite how this looks,” Regis gestured to the wheelchair. “This was merely a precaution. I will likely need some physical therapy to regain the strength of my legs after being so long abed, but my magic stores are fully rebuilt.”

“But I could...you don’t have to wear it anymore. I can maintain it.”

“I won’t hear it.” Regis said, tone sharp. “The Ring of the Lucii is not your burden to bear, not yet. I would keep its weight from your shoulders for as long as I am able.”

“So then, what’s going to happen with the Wall?”

Regis sighed, and suddenly, he looked ancient.

“For the moment, I’m maintaining the borders you set. But I can’t hold them indefinitely.”

“So why not let me—!”

Regis held up a hand for silence. “I will convince the council somehow to let in the groups that have taken shelter in the extended borders. We will find the room for them; perhaps in the old warehouse district. But afterwards, the Wall will diminish to what it was before.”

“But why? I can do it. I can hold it. Why won’t you let me?”

“I know to you it seems unfair. But there is…” Regis’ gaze turned distant. “There is more at stake than you know. There will come a time when you too will have to make compromises and sacrifices, for the greater good. That is what it means to be king.”

“But can’t I do better? Aren’t I supposed to be the King of Kings?”

Regis froze. Then asked, carefully, “Where did you hear that term?”

“The Lucii called me that.”

Regis glared down at the ring. “How helpful of them.”

Luna had named him the Chosen, before. It was so long ago that Noctis struggled to recall particulars, but he remembered her telling him he had some nebulous but important destiny to fulfill. He’d never managed to pry further details out of his father.

“Please, no more of this. We will discuss it later.”

Noctis knew his father’s “later” was code for “probably never”, but he couldn’t bring himself to muster any anger for his father right now. So he dropped the subject, and burrowed back into his father’s side. The clinical smells of the hospital clung to his Dad, but underneath all that was his familiar, comforting scent.

“I met Grandpa Mors.” Noctis said. His father had expressed regret before that Noctis had never gotten to meet his paternal grandparents. “He spoke to me.”

“Oh?”

“His moustache was really bristly.”

Regis huffed a laugh. “I called it a bottle brush, once. In front of the full court. He boxed my ears for that one.”

Regis resumed stroking his hair, and Noctis felt the cold metal of the ring against his scalp. Safe in the arms of his father, and under the watchful protection of the Lucii, for the first time in weeks Noctis finally let himself relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's all folks! Sorry it took so long, this chapter was really giving me trouble <<;
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! I'll probably write more FFXV content in the future, so keep an eye out :)


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